


Blind Faith

by angstytimelord



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-03 10:02:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 44
Words: 38,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1740614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angstytimelord/pseuds/angstytimelord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Hannibal leaves him for dead, Will vows to track him down no matter what it takes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flying Blind

Well, he was still here. That was a victory, in a way.

Will winced as he sat up in his hospital bed, suppressing a groan. It was going to take a while before he felt anything even approaching normal again.

Hannibal had left him for dead, assuming that he would bleed out right there next to Abigail's body, on the floor of the living room. But that hadn't happened; he hadn't counted on Jack using his cell to call the FBI, and to get people here fairly quickly.

Will had been told that it was touch and go with him for a while, but that he had finally stabilized and that he'd be fine. Eventually. Though no one knew how long that would take.

He heaved a sigh, closing his eyes.

At least he was still alive. That was a lot more than Hannibal had expected when the bastard had left him there. And he was one of the lucky ones.

He and Jack had survived, which was more than Abigail or Bloom could say. They were both buried now, nothing more than memories. Will hadn't been to their graves; he hadn't been able to get out of bed to go to either funeral. But he would make those graveside visits.

And he would avenge their deaths, he told himself grimly. He would make sure that Hannibal Lecter was brought to justice. It was his own personal mission now.

Of course, at this point, he had no idea where to start. Hannibal seemed to have disappeared into the ether, according to Jack and the FBI.

He was flying blind, with no clue as to where to begin searching. When he was recovered, he would go to Hannibal's house and start looking for clues there as to where he might have disappeared to, but Will didn't think that he would have left anything behind.

Though he _had_ left in a hurry, Will told himself. So there might be a chance that he'd left some little inkling as to where he might have headed.

Still, he wasn't going to hope that he'd find anything useful there.

No, catching Hannibal would require that he use his brain more than relying on any physical clues he could find. He would have to pit himself against that monster once again.

This time, he would be the winner, Will vowed, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. In a way, he had come out on the winning side in their last major clash. He had been a survivor, which he was sure Hannibal hadn't expected. That would throw a monkey wrench into the bastard's plans.

He would know that Will was after him, and he would have to be cautious. And in the end, there was no way of knowing who would win the ultimate victory.

Will intended to make sure that he would be the winner.


	2. Brass Ring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will needs something to strive towards during the long recovery process.

"Don't think about it right now, Will. You need to rest."

Jack's words made Will frown; what else did he have to do while he was lying here but think about all that had happened, and how to find Hannibal?

"I can't just lie here and do nothing, Jack," he said, aware that he sounded as though he was complaining, but unable to stop himself. "If I do, then my brain is just going to turn things over and over until it gets stuck on a loop that I might never be able to get out of."

Jack sighed, shaking his head and reaching out to put a hand on Will's shoulder. He removed it hastily when the young man winced, sitting back in his chair.

"Thinking about it isn't going to make things any better," Jack pointed out.

Of course it wouldn't, Will told himself. But planning how to find Hannibal, and what he would do when they met face-to-face again, gave him something to look forward to.

"I know it won't," he answered, gritting his teeth. "But it'll give me something to do instead of just lying here and feeling sorry for myself, which is about all I can do until the doctors let me start walking around again. And I don't think that'll be for a while."

"Your recovery is what's most important now, Will," Jack told him, looking worried. "Don't try to start doing too much, too soon. Take things slowly."

"You're one to talk," Will answered, looking up at the other man from where he lay in his hospital bed. "You probably shouldn't be up and walking around."

"I didn't take a knife to the gut like you did," Jack pointed out, sitting back and folding his arms across his chest. "I had some pretty bad injuries, but they didn't keep me from walking. You, on the other hand, could have lost some internal organs."

Will sighed, nodding reluctantly in acknowledgement of those words. I was the truth. Hannibal had wounded him gravely; he was lucky to be alive.

But he _was_ alive. And he would recover.

His recovery was probably going to take a long time, but he was determined to take on the challenge of going after Hannibal when he was out of the hospital.

It would give him something to focus on during the long hours of inactivity, and to get him through the painful physical therapy that he knew he'd have to deal with at some point. The thought of finding Hannibal, of being able to catch him and put him behind bars, would keep him going.

He would need that focus, that goal to reach for, if he wanted his recovery to proceed. He would need that brass ring to reach for.

And when he finally grasped it, victory would be incredibly sweet.


	3. Turn It Back Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is determined to turn a defeat into a victory.

Being in the hospital wasn't making him feel any better.

Will sighed, lying back against his pillows and staring up at the ceiling. He knew that he had to be here. He had no choice in the matter. He couldn't go home yet.

His home was too far out in the middle of nowhere if he needed help. And he wasn't going to deal with having some stranger meant to provide home health care living in his home, even temporarily. No, when he left here, it would be for good, under his own steam.

He couldn't manage that yet, and he knew it. He didn't have to relearn how to walk, thankfully, but he still had to spend some time mending under hospital care.

He could have died. He was lucky that he hadn't lost any vital organs.

Things could so easily be much worse than they were. He could have suffered a complete and total defeat -- he could have lost his life at Hannibal's hands.

Will sighed, closing his eyes. He was lucky to be alive, and he knew it. And somewhere out there, Hannibal was more than likely planning to pop up in his life again when he least expected it, plotting his demise. After all, he was a witness. He had to be eliminated.

Though really, there were far too many people who now knew what he was for Hannibal to get rid of them all. Or were there? That thought made Will wince.

Hannibal had already killed so many people -- what would more be to him? He didn't care about human life; he wouldn't care how many lives he ended.

In a way, that _hurt_. He had thought that Hannibal was his friend at one time, that he'd finally found someone who could understand him, or at least someone who cared enough to _want_ that kind of understanding. But he had been wrong, so wrong.

They'd never had a friendship. There had only been Hannibal using him, manipulating him, and planning his death. Nothing more than that.

There had only been defeat for him. It had been inevitable.

Defeat at finding a friend, defeat at trying to reach out to someone he'd mistakenly thought might prove to be someone he could count on and trust.

But he wouldn't be defeated a second time, Will told himself firmly. He _would_ get through this, and he would use it as a life lesson. He had been so right not to trust people before, not to let them too close. He wouldn't do so again.

He would turn that defeat into a victory. He _would_ move on, and he would be stronger for having to deal with all that had happened to him.

And when Hannibal showed up again, this time, he would be prepared.


	4. The Last Scar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last scar that Hannibal inflicted on Will is the most painful one he's ever had to deal with.

Will stood in front of the mirror, staring at himself.

It was strange how his face didn't reflect all that he'd been through. He looked as young and innocent as ever, as if he hadn't been irrevocably changed.

Only he knew of all the changes that had taken place within him.

He wasn't the person he'd been only a few days ago, before that last encounter with Hannibal. He'd survived, but he would never be the same. He had become a completely different man; there was no way that he could hold on to the person he had been.

No one who had any kind of an encounter with that slime was ever the same, Will though bitterly. Few would even survive. He was one of the lucky ones, really.

He'd lost his innocence long ago; he couldn't make any claim to that. But there had been a part of him that still believed in the innate goodness of human beings, a part of him that had thought everyone had a core of good within their souls.

He didn't feel that way any more. He knew better now. There were some people who were nothing but evil through and through. He'd found that out the hard way.

He had looked into the face of evil, that ratlike, hideous face of the monster who he'd thought was a friend. He knew what it was like to stare evil down, to try and outwit it. He hadn't managed to do that this time, but he knew that they would meet again in the future.

But he would bear the scars from their last meeting forever.

Slowly, hesitantly, Will pulled up his hospital gown to reveal the bandages on his torso. They would come off in a few days, but he knew what was under them.

The horrific scars that were left on his body would always be a reminder of that last painful scene involving himself, Hannibal, and Abigail. He would never forget those moments; he would never forget what he had seen, or how he had felt.

The pain of those moments could never be assuaged. Every time he thought back to that time, he'd feel the pain; it would always be with him, in some fashion.

Time might heal all wounds, but he was sure that any time he thought back to those moments, the healing scab would be ripped away again. All he could do was to try _not_ to think back, to let the memory be a part of the past, to never look at it again.

That was really the only choice he had, wasn't it? Thinking back would hurt too much, and if he kept doing it, that memory would eventually drive him over the edge.

He wouldn't let that happen. He wouldn't let Hannibal win.

That monster had already taken too much from him. Hannibal had _tried_ to take his sanity, but that had failed. It was one thing he hadn't managed to achieve.

The bastard had even tried to take his life, in the end -- and he'd failed in that, too. By this time, Hannibal probably knew of his failure -- and Will didn't doubt that at some point, he would be coming back for another try. This time, he would be even more deadly.

The scar that he would bear once those bandages came off wouldn't be the last scar that he would receive from Hannibal Lecter. He was sure of that.

They would tangle again. Probably more than once.

Will's lips thinned into a hard line as he stared at himself. Was this a person who was capable of going up against Hannibal for a second time, and perhaps more than that?

He _had_ to be capable of facing Hannibal. Because this wasn't over, not by a long shot. Will knew that, and he was sure that everyone around him did, too. And _he_ the person that everyone expected to go up against Hannibal for a second round.

Would he survive a second encounter? He wasn't entirely sure if he would, but he didn't intend to let such a hideous monster bring about his end.

Hannibal had tried to kill him once, and failed. Really, he'd tried to kill Will twice; the encephalitis that he'd induced could have done that, if he hadn't been diagnosed and treated. He'd been lucky there; Hannibal's first attempt had been thwarted.

But he would be even more careful a second time, Will cautioned himself. And the next time, he would be likely to leave even more scars.

No, the scars he bore now definitely wouldn't be the last ones.

Gingerly, he ran his fingers over the bandage, wincing as he did so. Did Hannibal have any idea how painful this was, how long it would take his body to heal? Of course he did; causing the maximum amount of pain had been one of his goals in doing this.

He didn't doubt that Hannibal had meant to kill him. He wasn't supposed to survive this. He was supposed to be dead, not merely left with scars.

But this time, Hannibal hadn't gotten what he wanted, Will thought with a wry smile. His plans had gone awry; he hadn't counted on Jack surviving his brutal attack and being able to call for help. Both of them were still here, and they would see to Hannibal's downfall.

It would be a while before he was capable of going up against Hannibal again, and he knew it. He'd have to heal completely, at least in the physical sense.

Will didn't think he would ever heal completely in the emotional sphere. Hannibal had inflicted too much pain and given him too many reasons to not trust. He would never reach out to another person again, never look for friendship or understanding.

That avenue of life was closed to him for good.

But he _would_ be able to keep doing his job. He _would_ be able to help people, to bring more criminals to justice. That was good enough for him.

The last scar that Hannibal had left on him had been a deep one, but in some ways, he would recover from it. That scar might even make him a stronger person, in some ways. In all of the ways that truly mattered, he would survive and move on.

In other ways, he would always live in the past. Will swallowed hard, closing his eyes, pushing that thought away from him. It was too painful to deal with right now.

Hannibal had taken more from Will than he might have thought he would.

He'd taken away Will's hope for a future that could hold some happiness. He'd taken away the one human connection he'd felt that he had made.

Now his future loomed before him, with nothing there but work and loneliness. There would be the dogs, of course. His own little family that he'd made for himself, the only family that he would ever know. That was what he had to look forward to.

It would be enough, Will told himself. It would have to be enough. There was nothing else left. Nothing but the scars from the past.

Scars that would always be with him.

He should be used to those scars by now. Most of them, he _was_ used to. They were etched into his body and his soul, scars that had been with him for so long that they were a part of him. He could forget about them at times; they were almost comfortable at this point.

The last scar had been the most painful one, the one that that had dug the deepest. It was the one that he would always carry with him, both on his body and on his heart.

A scar that would never fade, either from his body or his mind.


	5. On the Side of the Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All that he had to say and do in his plan to trap Hannibal still makes Will feel dirty.

Just thinking about the last few weeks made Will feel dirty.

He hated the fact that he'd had to pretend to be like Hannibal, that he'd had to act as though he was a carbon copy of a conscienceless killer.

Thinking of some of the things that he'd done and said -- none of which he had meant, none of which were true -- made him feel sick. And what good had it done in the end, anyway? Hannibal had killed Abigail, killed Bloom, and left him and Jack for dead.

Only they hadn't died, Will told himself firmly, lifting his chin in a defiant gesture. They weren't going to die. They had survived, and they would live to fight another day.

Hannibal hadn't won. Not this time.

He might have gotten away, but it was only a matter of time before they would track him down and bring him to hell like the creature he was.

Hannibal was a monster, a cold-blooded killer. His crimes had gone unpunished for so long, but now it was time for him to pay for all the horrible things he had done. Will was determined that he and Jack would stop him, and prevent any further bloodbaths.

It wouldn't be easy, he knew. And it might still take some time. But at least they knew who they were after now. They were no longer stumbling around in the dark.

They knew exactly what Hannibal was, and what he had done. There was no room for doubt any longer. He _would_ be caught, and punished.

If only they hadn't let him slip through their fingers the first time! But Will's plan, as good as it was, had still been flawed. Hannibal had fallen for his act, but there had still been that loophole that had allowed him to go free -- and to kill again in the process.

The thought that his flawed plan might have led to the deaths of two people he'd known and cared for would always make him feel guilty.

And the fact that he'd had to pretend to be like Hannibal would always make him feel dirty.

He hated knowing that he'd had to abase himself so horribly, that he'd had to pretend to actually _like_ killing. That feeling of being coated in dirt would never go away.

He was nothing like Hannibal, Will told himself firmly. In spite of all that he'd had to say and do to make that monster believe that he was succumbing to the siren song of evil, he would _never_ be anything even resembling the shambling horror that was Hannibal Lecter unmasked.

He wasn't evil. He wasn't on the side of darkness. He was on the side of the angels, even if he wasn't one himself. He always would be.

And maybe, one day he would stop feeling that Hannibal's filth had rubbed off on him.


	6. Innocence Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will feels that Hannibal has destroyed the last shred of his innocent belief in the goodness of the human race.

"I feel like he took my innocence, Jack."

Will sighed and looked down, feeling silly as soon as he'd said the words. Innocence? Did he even have any of that commodity left for anyone to take?

"I mean, I'm not innocent in most ways," he said hastily, trying to correct any wrong impression that Jack might have been given by his words. "But I always had this belief in people, even after all I'd see, that most of the human race was intrinsically good."

He stared out of the window, down at the busy parking lot in front of the hospital, feeling suddenly more bereft than he had since he'd first woken up here.

He had lost so much, in such a short time.

"And now, you feel that you can't see anything other than the dark side of human nature," Jack finished for him, nodding. "I can understand that. I feel the same way."

Will turned around to look back at the other man, not surprised at Jack's words. Of course Jack would feel that he had to see the bad side of people all the time; he'd been doing that for years, and he'd probably long since lost the ability to have faith.

No, that wasn't quite true, was it? Jack had kept faith in _him_ , going along with his plan to trap the monster they'd both wanted so desperately to catch.

But now that he felt he'd lost his innocent outlook on the human race, was it such a good idea for Jack to trust him in the way that he was trying to?

Will didn't think so, but then, he asked himself, what did he know? His plan had gone horribly wrong; it had all blown up in his face, backfiring in the worst of ways. He would always feel guilty for the deaths of people he'd known and cared for, even though he hadn't killed them.

Those deaths could be laid directly at Hannibal's door, but Will would always feel that it was _his_ plan that had put them in the line of fire.

He would never be able to forgive himself for that. Never.

His innocence, that belief that he'd had in human beings, was irretrievably lost. He would never be able to get it back, thanks to Hannibal.

Just like he would never be able to get back the people he had lost, the lives that Hannibal had taken. That monster had destroyed so much; now Will's guiding purpose in life was to destroy _him_ , to put him behind bars and take away his freedom.

Will knew all too well how that felt -- and how Hannibal would suffer from being locked in a cage. It was the fitting punishment for all of his crimes.

But even making the punishment fit the crimes wouldn't bring his lost innocence back.


	7. Lifeblood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will can feel his lifeblood draining out of him.

Blood. So much blood. Pouring out him, staining the floor.

His lifeblood. It was spilling onto the wood, turning everything red. His fingers were red, his hands covered in the viscous liquid.

It smelled like copper. It was growing stronger, that scent, filling the air until Will was sure that he would choke on it. He couldn't breathe; he could feel himself slipping away. All he had to do was close his eyes and let the darkness take over. It would be easy. So easy.

No, he couldn't do that. His eyes snapped open again, and he tried to take a deep breath. He wasn't going to just lie here and die because Hannibal Lecter had decreed it.

That monster wasn't going to kill him.

He would live through this, live to fight another day. Even if all that he'd been living for had been taken from him, the rug pulled out from under his feet.

His gaze went to Abigail's body, the eyes mercifully closed. She wasn't staring at him. She wasn't blaming him for her final, ultimate death -- her death at Hannibal's hands, only moments after she had come back into Will's life, like a comet blazing across the night sky.

He'd thought she was dead before, that the monster had taken her away. But that hadn't been true .... only now, it was. This time, she was irretrievably lost.

As was he, if someone didn't come to the house quickly. Was anyone on their way? Had Jack called for help? Or was Jack dead, just as Abigail was?

Did anyone know that he was here, bleeding out on the floor, the red pool around him starting to spread? It might already be too late for anyone to save him, even if they did show up; he could feel himself slipping into darkness, into the arms of oblivion ....

Will's eyes snapped open, his breath catching in his throat, holding back a scream that he didn't dare to let out. He blinked, his eyes focusing on the lights above him.

He wasn't in Hannibal's house, dying, bleeding out in a darkened room.

He'd been rescued from that. He was in the hospital, recovering from Hannibal's attempt to kill him. He was alive, trying to put the shattered fragments of his life back together.

Will sighed, closing his eyes again, not wanting to look up at the lights. It would have been so much easier to let himself sink into that oblivion, not to fight any longer. He was tired of fighting. He was tired of trying to win against a monster who held all the cards.

But something deep within him protested at those words. He couldn't give up. He couldn't let his lifeblood drain from him, not if it meant Hannibal winning in the end.

He _would_ recover. And in the end, _he_ would be the victor in this game.


	8. Bringing Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next time he confronts Hannibal, Will intends to be prepared to bring death.

Had Hannibal really been trying to kill him with that knife wound?

If he had, then he'd made a serious miscalculation.

Will looked down at the horrific scar on his stomach, wincing as he took it in. It would always be there; it would never go away.

That scar would always remind him of what had happened, of Hannibal and the twisted symbiotic relationship they'd had. It hadn't been a friendship, not really ... but still, since that horrible night, he'd felt that there was something missing in his life.

Even though he had never completely trusted Hannibal, he was shocked -- and unnerved -- to realize that in a way, he _missed_ the other man.

Hannibal had understood him in a way that no one else ever could.

Hannibal had realized that there was a dark side to his nature, a side that he struggled to keep under strict control, a side that could blossom if he let it have free rein.

But Hannibal had wanted him to surrender himself to that dark side, to bring it out front and center. He had wanted to create Will in his own image -- and that was something that Will would never consent to. In the end, Hannibal had realized that.

He ran his fingers slowly across the scar, wincing again. It was still tender to the touch; it probably would be for a long time, as would the scars that Hannibal had left on his psyche.

Maybe Hannibal _had_ intended to kill him. That knife thrust had left him bleeding out copiously; it could easily have meant his death.

Still, Will didn't think that had been the ultimate intention. Hannibal was a doctor; he would have known how to thrust that knife to cause the most damage, exactly where the most vulnerable internal organs were. He had missed those vital parts for a reason.

He had wanted to keep Will alive. He still wanted to play his games, perhaps even still harbored a hope that Will _would_ cross over to that dark side of himself.

Well, he would hold on to that hope in vain.

There was no way that Will was going to let that dark side of himself take prominence; pretending to let it do so had been the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life.

He couldn't do that again. He had felt more revulsion for himself when he'd been perpetrating that act than he had at any other time in his life; he wasn't going to go through that again. When he _did_ finally catch Hannibal, it would be on his own terms.

If Hannibal wanted his death, then he'd have to try a lot harder to make it happen. And the next time they confronted each other, Will would be prepared for him.

The next time, he would be prepared to be the one who brought death.

And that death, when it came, would be well-deserved.


	9. As Sure As the Moon Shines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are so many things surrounding that last fateful encounter with Hannibal that Will can't remember.

Why did he insist on torturing himself by remembering that night?

Will sighed as he looked up at the full moon, hanging in the star-spangled night sky. Had the moon been out on that night? He couldn't remember.

There were so many details that he didn't remember, so many things that he was unsure of. But he could replay every second of his last confrontation with Hannibal, every emotion, every physical sensation. He would never be able to forget even one second of those horrific moments.

And he would never be able to forget the pain that had twisted his heart and shattered it into a million tiny shards when he had watched Hannibal murder Abigail.

The moon _had_ been in the sky that night. It had illuminated the scene.

Hannibal would probably say that he'd planned it that way, Will thought, his lips twisting wryly. He would always take credit for anything that added to a scenario.

His hand went to the wound on his stomach, the wound that still wasn't quite healed. The bandages were still there, but they would come off fairly soon. It had been a serious wound, a grievous one, but he had survived. That was where Hannibal had made his worst mistake.

Leaving Will alive wasn't something he should have done. Hannibal should have known that doing so would make him an enemy that he couldn't afford to have.

As sure as the moon was shining brightly in the sky tonight, he would find Hannibal Lecter, Will vowed. He would make that bastard pay for all that he'd done.

He would avenge the deaths that Hannibal had caused; he would get justice not only for his friends, for the people he'd cared about, but for all of the victims of Hannibal's murderous intent. He wouldn't rest until that monster was behind bars, right where he belonged.

Maybe some people would say that he was obsessed, but he had a good reason to be. After all, Hannibal had almost caused his own death. It had been a very close call.

Though he didn't think that had been purposeful. Not any more.

Hannibal was a doctor, after all. He knew where Will's most vulnerable internal organs were; he would have gone for them if he'd intended to kill. He hadn't wanted Will to die.

No, he had wanted to make Will suffer, to leave him with a wound that would be a constant reminder of that night, a wound that would never completely disappear. It would always be there, silently taunting Will with his failure to capture Hannibal the first time around.

But there _would_ be a second time, he told himself as he stared up at the bright full moon, wondering if Hannibal might be doing the same, and remembering that fateful night.

The next time they met, the full moon might again be a silent witness to their battle.


	10. Haunting Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rain will always bring back memories of the most horrifying night of Will's life.

Will stood there, looking up at the sky until the first raindrops began to fall.

It had been raining on that fateful night, too, he remembered. He had stumbled through the pouring rain to Hannibal's house, his heart trip-hammering in his chest.

He hadn't known what he would find there, but it had been more ghastly than he could have ever imagined. He had seen and heard so many things that night, things that still reverberated in his mind. He had seen images that he could never erase, never forget.

His heart had leaped for joy when he'd discovered that Abigail was still alive -- and then plummeted to the depths when she had been murdered in front of his eyes.

Hannibal's evil knew no bounds. Nothing could ever wash it away.

Even the water that had poured down that night hadn't been able to erase the blood from the front courtyard of the house, the blood of someone he had known.

He'd tried to save her, Will told himself. Even though he had known that she couldn't live, not exposed to the elements as she had been, and having that much blood. It would have been impossible for her to cling to life, even with all the help he'd wanted to give her.

One more person he had known who was taken from him by Hannibal Lecter. One more death to lay at the hands of that monster. Too many needless deaths.

The water that was starting to come down from the sky now reminded him of that night; rain always made his mind drift back to those horrific events.

Will wondered if he would ever be able to enjoy rain again; at one time in his life, he'd liked it, thought that it was soothing, had been lulled to sleep by the patter of raindrops on the window. Now, rain meant nothing but a return of horrors that he didn't want to remember.

That had been the most horrifying night of his life. Even without the reminder of the rain, he would never be able to forget it, not for a single moment.

Those memories would always be with him, in the back of his mind.

Every time it rained, his mind would be transported back to that night. Will didn't think he could ever look at rain in the same way again. He could never enjoy it again.

From now on, rain would only signify horror, sadness and pain. He would never again be able to hear rain on the window and think that it was soothing; it would always remind him of what he had seen and felt on that night, when a part of his life had crumbled into dust.

Any time water poured from the sky, he would be taken back in his memories. He couldn't help feeling that those memories would stay in his mind's eye forever.

The rain would always bring back haunting memories, and the pain of loss.


	11. Shadow on His Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will's guilt over not stopping Hannibal will always cast a shadow over his life.

Hannibal was always going to cast a pall over his life.

The time that he'd spent with that monster would always be a shadow on his soul, a stain on his spirit. Will didn't think he would ever get rid of that feeling.

Just thinking about the fact that he'd thought they were friends, even for a short while, left a bad taste in his mouth. How could he, with his empathy, his knowledge of people, have let himself be so fooled? How could he not have seen what Hannibal was?

To the other man's credit, he was good at pulling the wool over people's eyes and covering up his true identity with a mask of urbanity and sophistication.

Or maybe he really _was_ urbane and sophisticated, Will thought with a sigh.

Still, he was a killer. He'd taken so many lives -- and he'd nearly added Will to that number. Will knew that he was indeed lucky to be alive.

He'd gambled and lost when it came to catching Hannibal, but he'd done his best. He just wished that his best had been good enough to put that monster away for life. That would be another shadow on his soul, one that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

He _would_ catch Hannibal, and he _would_ make sure that the bastard ended up in jail. Now _that_ would be poetic justice.

And it would also be revenge, of a sort, he thought wryly. That revenge would taste sweet, whether it was served hot or cold. It would be a catharsis for him.

After all that had happened, he _needed_ to see Hannibal behind bars. He needed to know that such an inhuman monster was locked away from the world, where he couldn't cause any more harm to anyone else. Maybe that would help to eradicate his guilt.

Jack kept telling him that he shouldn't feel guilty, that he couldn't have known Hannibal was the killer they'd searched for. Hannibal had fooled them all.

But Will knew better. He knew that his guilt would always stain his conscience.

Of all people, _he_ should have known. He should have been able to see behind that mask long before he had, been able to view Hannibal for what he really was.

Because he hadn't been able to do so, people had died. People he'd cared about. And more people would die, now that Hannibal was loose in the world and they had no idea where he was. He wouldn't be able to stop his killing. It was too much a part of him.

With each death, the shadow on his soul would grow. He _had_ to catch Hannibal, before the shadow grew to gigantic proportions and swallowed him alive.

He _would_ see Hannibal behind bars, if it was the last thing he ever did.


	12. The Game Has Begun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected letter only solidifies Will's determination to put Hannibal behind bars.

Will looked down at the paper in his shaking hand, blue eyes wide.

He was almost unable to believe what he was reading. Hannibal had actually written him a letter. A long letter, one that explained a lot of things.

He now knew why Hannibal had framed him for murdering Abigail, and why he'd literally kept the girl a prisoner in his home. And he also knew why Hannibal had killed her. None of the answers to those questions made him feel less hatred towards the other man.

Instead, those answers had only heightened his hatred of Hannibal. He wasn't a man, he was a monster. He had no claim whatsoever to humanity.

More than ever, Will wanted to put him behind bars.

That was the only place he belonged, Will told himself, anger seething through his veins. he had committed atrocities, and he should be made to pay for them.

He turned the letter over in his hands, not wanting to read it again, but knowing that he would at some point. He would probably read it obsessively before he turned it over to Jack, and let the FBI pore over it. He had no choice in that matter; he had to let them see it.

Will doubted that anything about the letter would help them catch Hannibal. There was no clue as to where he was; even the postmark wouldn't mean much.

After all, he had probably already left wherever he'd been when it was mailed. Hannibal was no fool; it wasn't going to be so simple to catch him.

What surprised Will the most was that Bedelia was with him; he hadn't expected that at all. So, it seemed that Bedelia was Hannibal's accomplice -- and more than likely, his lover, though there was no way to prove that. It was mere speculation, and he didn't really care.

All he cared about was finding them, and bringing Hannibal to justice. He wanted to see that monster caged for the rest of his life, to see him suffer as Will had suffered.

He wanted to see Hannibal lose his freedom, to be incarcerated for life.

That would be worse for Hannibal than death. Losing his freedom, losing his reputation, would cut into him more than a blade or a bullet.

And that was the revenge he wanted, Will thought as he tried not crumple the letter in his hand. He wanted Hannibal to be reduced to nothingness, to see all of that arrogance and hubris collapse under the weight of utter despair. He wanted Hannibal to feel the same way _he_ had felt.

Somehow, he would make that happen. And maybe, if he was lucky, this letter would be a place to start. Maybe more would come, and give him clues to Hannibal's whereabouts.

The game had begun. And this time, he was going to win.


	13. Into Thin Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will muses on how difficult it will be to capture Hannibal, even though his nemesis has already made the first move.

He should have known that letter wouldn't be of any help.

Will sighed as he plowed a hand through his hair, frowning. Hannibal and Bedelia seemed to have vanished into this air, leaving no trace behind.

Of course, the city that they'd postmarked the letter from -- in Switzerland -- was far too large to be accurately checked for signs of the two of them. They could have been anywhere; even asking about a couple who resembled them, or showing pictures, wouldn't do much good.

Still, they'd done what they could. They had searched for the missing couple, but there hadn't been a single trace of them. They'd pulled a vanishing act.

There was no telling where those two could be now, Will thought. Privately, he wondered just how long Bedelia would be with Hannibal. After all, Hannibal _was_ a serial killer, and to the best of Will's knowledge, he had always worked alone.

He seriously doubted that Hannibal would let Bedelia have any of what he probably considered his "glory." After a while, she would more than likely disappear for good.

And then they would be looking for another body, as well.

No, he doubted that Hannibal would leave anything of her body to be found, WIll thought with a shudder. It wasn't his style, not when he wanted to completely rid himself of someone.

He didn't want to think about what Hannibal would do with the body. Everything in him shrank from thinking about that kind of atrocity; he didn't want to remember how close he had probably come to eating people in the past, at any of Hannibal's little dinner parties.

Will couldn't help but wonder if he actually _had_ done something so horrendous; just the thought almost made him feel as though he had to throw up.

With difficulty, he held the feeling back, taking a few deep breaths until the urge to do so passed. He didn't want to think about things like that; it only made him feel unsettled, as though everything around him was spinning out of his control.

When he'd been "friends" with Hannibal, his life _had_ been out of his control -- and he'd been stupid enough to think that Hannibal could help with that.

He hadn't realized at the time that Hannibal was the one causing that chaos.

Just the idea that he and Hannibal had ever been friends, even uneasy ones, almost made him laugh now. There had been no friendship -- just one person using another.

Will had no doubt that Hannibal had never felt anything even approaching real friendship or affection for him. He was a serial killer; he wasn't capable of that kind of emotion. Will didn't think that a monster like the one he's known could feel any _real_ emotion at all.

Oh, he was good at faking it. He was good at making people think he had their best interests at heart, that he was a kind, caring human being.

But Will knew better than most that Hannibal merely wore a human mask, one that went far towards hiding what he really was under that facade.

And when that mask was torn away, there was nothing there but a horrific monster, one that Will had dared to go up against -- and lost. But he _wouldn't_ lose the next time they confronted each other, Will vowed to himself. The next time, he would be prepared.

That first time their wills had clashed, Will had underestimated his enemy. He'd learned his lesson on that front; he'd never put anything past Hannibal again.

He had looked evil directly in the face. He had confronted it, and survived.

Now that evil seemed to have vanished into this air, leaving not a clue as to its whereabouts. Will knew from experience that it wouldn't be easy to unearth that evil now.

Once a killer had gone to ground, finding them was nearly impossible, especially when they were as smart as Hannibal. He had become adept at not leaving any clues behind -- he only left the clues that he _wanted_ to be found.

Will knew that the FBI had their work cut out for them. Tracking Hannibal down, even with that letter he had sent to Will as a first clue, might not even be possible.

Would he send more letters? Will hoped so; at the moment, that seemed to be the only hope they had of tracking him in any way. Will hoped that Hannibal would be lulled into a false security, and that he would, at some point, get careless and sloppy.

Or maybe, just maybe, he would feel that he had to see Will again -- and he would make the fatal mistake of coming back to Baltimore, or even Wolf Trap.

As much as Will feared that confrontation, he desired it, too.

He needed that closure. He needed to be able to look Hannibal in the eye again, knowing that this time, he was prepared for anything that monster could do.

He needed to know that he could prevail, that Hannibal wasn't going to be able to surprise him again. That last encounter had been one that he hadn't been ready for, as much as he'd thought he was. This time, he wouldn't let anything hold him back, or take him by surprise.

But that final confrontation seemed very far away now, as he didn't even know where Hannibal was, or if the other man was going to show up again.

Will rubbed a hand over his eyes, sighing in frustration. He didn't want to have to sit back and wait for his enemy to make the next move, but that seemed to be the only choice he had. He would simply have to be patient, and wait for Hannibal to come to him.

Which made him more or less a sitting duck. He couldn't help wondering if, even now, Hannibal might be keeping an eye on him, even when he had seemingly disappeared.

The thought sent a cold shiver of apprehension down his spine.


	14. Followed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will knows that he'll always be haunted by memories until Hannibal is caught and he can achieve closure.

"He follows me wherever I go, Jack."

Will knew that he sounded defeated, but he couldn't help it. It was beyond frustrating to not know where his nemesis was, to be so close and yet so far.

When he'd gotten that letter from Hannibal, he'd had high hopes that they would be able to track the man down, that this would finally be over and he would get the closure he needed. But that obviously wasn't going to happen, not for a long time.

Hannibal wasn't in Switzerland, of course. He had disappeared without a trace, and no one they had talked to even recalled seeing a man who looked like him.

Will wanted to scream out his frustration, to pound the walls, to do _something_ , anything, to get his feelings out into the open. How was he supposed to deal calmly and quietly with this? It was impossible. He _had_ to vent.

Jack was sitting there at his desk, looking at him, giving him the chance to vent -- but he didn't know what to say. He was beyond words.

He couldn't articulate what he was feeling, not in mere syllables.

What he felt went too deep to be expressed in mere words, and he didn't think that Jack would understand, anyway. Nobody could possibly understand how he felt.

Nobody else had suffered what he had at Hannibal's hands. Nobody else had been played the way he had, been used in the same manner.

That was what got to him more than anything else, wasn't it? he asked himself. The fact that he had been used and tossed away when Hannibal was through with him, like a used tissue that had been crumpled and forgotten about as it was thrown into the trash can.

"You mean the memories, don't you?" Jack asked, his gaze never leaving Will's face. "We all have those, Will. None of us will ever be free of them."

Will nodded slowly, exhaling and forcing himself not to clench his hands into fists. "Yeah. The memories. They'll follow me for the rest of my life."

Or at least until Hannibal was safely behind bars. Then, and only then, when he knew that monster wasn't going to be able to harm any more people -- himself included -- would he be able to let go of those horrible memories and feel that he'd achieved closure.

Until then, Hannibal Lecter was going to haunt his thoughts and his dreams, following him through every step of his life, even though he wasn't around.

He would never get rid of the sense of being followed, not as long as Hannibal was out there somewhere and could pop up in his life again at any time.

That fact had been proven when he'd received that letter.

Hannibal would constantly follow him unless he managed to catch the monster and put him behind bars, to exorcise him for good.

That feeling of being followed wasn't simply going to go away. As long as Hannibal remained free, Will knew that he would always wonder if the bastard had somehow slipped back into the country, if he was in Wolf Trap, in Baltimore, if he was being watched.

His nemesis was good at being cover. Hannibal could be keeping tabs on him right now, and he would have no way ot knowing it until it was too late.

But somehow, he didn't think that was the case -- at least, not yet. Hannibal wouldn't be stupid enough to come back here now, so soon after he'd left, when everyone now _knew_ that he was a killer. Even he didn't have that kind of hubris. He would opt for self-preservation.

Or would he? Will thought, his brow furrowing. Was his obsession with Will, his need to win at any game he played, enough to bring him back already?

Maybe they should intensify their search -- and start it at home.

"You're thinking of something," Jack told him, leaning forward, his eyes narrowing. "I can always tell when you have an idea, Will. Spit it out."

Will wondered momentarily if trying to do a thorough search of the area he lived in was worth it; _would_ Hannibal actually think that he could come back here and covertly watch him without being found out? Still, it was worth a try. And it was a good place to start.

He nodded, taking a deep breath before speaking. "Yeah, I've got an idea. Not sure if you'll go for it, but it's the best thing I can come up with at the moment."

"Try me." Will smiled at the words, and began to outline his plan.


	15. Intricate Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even though Hannibal is far away, Will knows that his nemesis is still engaging in their mind games.

Hannibal was still playing those mind games with him.

Will sighed softly, leaning back and closing his eyes. This was nothing more than another game they were playing, an intricate dance that Hannibal was leading in.

It was a dance that was turning in dizzying circles, one that was hard for Will to follow. But he was doing his best, and he was sure that he'd be more prepared to take the lead when he and Hannibal finally met face to face again, as he was sure they would.

He didn't doubt that Hannibal intended for them to have another confrontation. There was too much unfinished business between them for it not to happen.

Will had to wonder if he haunted Hannibal, just as the other man haunted him.

Did Hannibal stay awake at night thinking of him, of that last bloody meeting between the two of them? Did he have any remorse at all for what he'd done?

No, Will doubted very much that he did. He would expect _Will_ to be the remorseful one, for his supposed "betrayal" of Hannibal. Though Will couldn't see what he'd done as a betrayal at all -- he saw it as capturing a dangerous criminal.

Still, it was obvious that Hannibal would never view what he'd done in that light. In Hannibal's eyes, a friend had turned on him, and he had exacted retribution.

In a way, maybe he couldn't blame Hannibal for feeling that way. He _had_ opened himself to Will -- and he had been tricked into doing so.

But it had been something he'd had to do, Will told himself. His conscience wouldn't have allowed anything else, and Hannibal had to realize that. He knew that Will would have turned him in if he had confessed, so perhaps he'd known all along just what Will was doing.

If he had, then the plan definitely hadn't gone as it was supposed to, Will thought, wincing as a pain shot through his side. Nothing had gone as he'd thought it would.

The intricate dance steps had been too much for him, and he had stumbled.

Or was it Hannibal who had stumbled in the dance, and then realized his mistake and tried to rectify it? he thought, his blue eyes narrowing.

He didn't know which had been the case, but whatever had caused that last confrontation, he knew that he now had a bitter enemy, whereas at one time, he'd been deluded enough to think that he had a friend. That would never happen again, not with anyone, he vowed.

Nobody would lead him in that kind of a dance again. And once the situation with Hannibal was over and done with, he would close the door on this intricate dance for good.

He just wanted it all to be resolved, preferably soon.


	16. The Edge of Eternity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he receives a postcard from Hannibal, Will reflects on their past and what their association meant to each of them.

This was the second postcard in two weeks.

Will looked down at the card in his hands, wishing that he could simply throw it away. He didn't want to look at it, didn't want to read the words written on the other side.

This one had a picture of snow-capped mountain peaks; Hannibal was in Switzerland now, and Will had to wonder if Bedelia was still with him. Bedelia, who had said that she believed him when he was in jail and accusing Hannibal of putting him there; Bedelia, who had seemed like a friend, but who was really working for Hannibal.

She had to be, didn't she? If she wasn't, then she wouldn't be with him now, running around the world trying to stay a few steps ahead of the police, who were always after them.

So far, it seemed that it had been far too easy for the two of them to cover their tracks. Will wanted to be part of the team that was chasing them, but Jack had forbidden that; he said that Will was too close to the case, that he wouldn't be able to keep himself focused on objectivity if he happened to catch the fugitive pair.

Jack was probably right, Will admitted to himself. He wanted to catch Hannibal so badly that he knew he wouldn't be able to hold back his anger if he confronted his nemesis.

He just hated being forced to sit back and wait.

But that was really all he could do at this point, he told himself with a soft sigh. Jack was also right when he pointed out the fact that Will hadn't recovered physically enough to be out on this hunt.

He hated admitting that Jack was right, hated admitting that he was best served by being here and waiting to see if Hannibal would show up in Wolf Trap, or contact him by phone.

So far, there had been only that one letter, and then these postcards. Will couldn't help wondering if he would receive one every week; this was only the second one, but they'd come exactly a week apart, so it seemed that Hannibal was trying to time the delivery for some specific reason. Will wondered what it could be.

He had already read the few lines on the back of the card over and over; he would see those black lines written in that precise, elegant script even in his sleep.

_"You have sent me to the edge of eternity, Will. I had wanted you to be my companion in this, but my plans were forced to make a swift change. I wish that hadn't been the case."_

Was it his imagination, or did it sound as though Hannibal actually _regretted_ what he had done? No, Will told himself firmly, shaking his head. Hannibal couldn't have planned for the two of them to run away together, like fugitive lovers. He hadn't been fooled by Will's attempted deception, not at all.

If he had been, then he wouldn't have gutted Will and left him there to die. It would have always come to that, no matter what the scenario was that they played out. Hannibal had always meant for him to die.

He didn't believe that Hannibal was his friend now any more than he'd believed it when that monster had come to visit him in prison and had insisted that they were friends. He never would.

Friends didn't try to kill each other. Hannibal was no friend of his.

Hannibal had sent him to the edge of eternity, too, but luckily, he had managed to crawl back from that deep, dark pit that the other man had tried to push him into.

He had no guilt about Hannibal being on the run; he hadn't forced that to happen, after all. Hannibal himself had done that, with all of his conscienceless killings. If he was a decent human being, he wouldn't be forced to hide from the authorities, evading capture to preserve his freedom and, possibly, even his life.

Will hadn't caused that to happen. He had no reason to feel guilty, or even regretful. Everything he'd done had been necessary to catch a killer and put him behind bars.

Of course Hannibal, being that killer, wouldn't see things in that light. He would only see that he couldn't keep killing with impunity, and he would be angry that his chosen mode of living had been denied him. Well, that hadn't happened _yet_ ; Will was sure that Hannibal would kill again until he was caught. But they _would_ catch him.

Justice was catching up to Hannibal, closing in on him. Soon, the edge of eternity would loom before him, and he would have to choose whether to surrender -- or to jump into that yawning abyss.

Will hoped that he would surrender, but a part of him wanted to see the monster jump -- and disappear forever.


	17. Bad Reception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will gets an unexpected late-night phone call.

Will looked up when the phone rang, a frown furrowing his brow.

No one called him at this hour, not unless it was Jack calling to say that they had a new case. But even Jack wouldn't call him this late at night; it was nearly midnight, and he should have been in bed already.

It was probably Jack, Will thought as he got up from the couch and went to pick up his cell phone. It didn't matter that it was so late at night; if he had a new murder that he felt he needed Will's help with, it could be the dead of night, and he would still call and expect Will to haul himself to wherever the crime scene was.

That was one of the big problems with being Jack's pet freak, Will told himself as he clocked the cell phone on. He was regarded as a performing monkey that was always on call to do tricks.

For a moment, there was nothing but static on the line; Will almost thought that the caller had hung up when he hadn't answered in the first three rings. But that was unlike Jack; he would let the phone ring a dozen times if that was what it took to get Will to pick up the phone. Of course, it would go to voice mail long before that.

"Hello?" Will said the word once, then again. "Hello? Jack?" When the caller still didn't answer, Will was sure that they must be in a place that had exceptionally bad reception.

"Who is this?" It was only then that he thought to look at the number.

Whoever it was, it wasn't Jack. The number was unknown, and the static was still on the line. It hadn't gotten any worse, but it hadn't gotten better, either. Will wished that whoever it was would speak up.

"Look, if you don't say something, I'm going to hang up," he said loudly and clearly. "You need to go somewhere that has better reception. I'm not going to sit here all night and wait for you to talk to me. It's late, and I've got to get to bed." He hoped that would make whoever it was decide to say something.

When the person on the other end of the line finally spoke, the voice shocked him; it was one that he hadn't expected to hear again, at least not this soon. "Hello, Will."

Will almost dropped the phone in shock, his breath catching in his throat. Then he realized that the worst thing he could do was to let Hannibal know that this phone had shaken him to the core.

"Hello, Hannibal," he answered, trying to keep his voice level and even. "Where are you? And why is this reception so bad?" He was fairly sure that Hannibal was in some faraway place where the reception was spotty at best; he didn't think that his nemesis would risk calling him from any place near Wolf Trap.

"I am nowhere near you, Will, if that's what might be worrying you," Hannibal told him, his voice smooth and soft. "I simply wanted to let you know that I am still here. I'm not out of your life just yet."

That information made Will swallow hard again; it wasn't what he wanted to hear.

He didn't want Hannibal Lecter in his life. He just wanted to find the bastard, put him behind bars, and then walk away from him -- just as Hannibal had done to him.

All right, so Hannibal hadn't exactly walked away. But he had put Will in an untenable position, and tried to take away all hope from him. Hannibal had tried to completely break him down, but he hadn't succeeded. Will had survived what had been forced on him, and now it was his turn to do the breaking.

As calmly as he could, he spoke into the phone. "So why are you calling me, Hannibal? Are you still playing your little cat and mouse game? If you are, I'm not biting."

"It's not up to you to decide what games we play, Will," Hannibal told him, a rough edge in his voice now. "You forfeited your right to dictate any of those games when you betrayed me. Betrayal always comes with a price, you know. And you have only begun to pay that price, Will. You still owe me."

"I don't owe you anything," Will managed to say before the phone went dead. The connection had been severed; the crackling static was gone, and so was the tenuous connection to Hannibal, wherever he was.

Will knew better than to try to speculate on where his nemesis was; there was no way of knowing.

At least Hannibal wasn't anywhere near him -- at least, that was what he had said. But Will knew all too well just how well Hannibal could; facile untruths tripped off his tongue like a waterfall.

Slowly, he clicked his phone off and put it down; he would have to tell Jack about this call tomorrow, of course. He would have to let his boss know that Hannibal wasn't done with him yet, and then Jack would probably insist that he have bodyguards, and people watching his house on a constant basis.

Somehow, he didn't think that Hannibal was far away from him. He could almost _sense_ the other man; bad reception on the phone notwithstanding, Hannibal was near. He could feel his nemesis closing in.

Will closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He seriously doubted that he would get any sleep tonight.


	18. Target on His Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will doesn't want to sit back and wait for Hannibal to come for him.

"In time I'll heal, Jack." Will's voice was flat, uncompromising.

"Yes, in time you will," Jack replied, a frown furrowing his brow. "And that time isn't now. You're not going to go after Hannibal, Will. You're not in any shape to be out in the field again yet."

"You're letting me go to crime scenes when you need me," Will pointed out, his own scowl matching Jack's. "You use my .... talents when you need them. So there's no reason why you can't let me go out there with the team that's looking for Hannibal. There'll be a lot of people who have my back."

Will knew that he was being unreasonable, but he suddenly felt the need to do something more than merely sit around and wait for Hannibal to be apprehended.

He wanted to be part of the team that caught him. Ever since that phone call three days ago, he couldn't help feeling that if he didn't _do_ something, Hannibal was going to have the upper hand -- and that he might be caught unawares again, just as he had when Hannibal had gutted him with that evil little knife.

He didn't want to be in that position again. He didn't want to be seen as a victim, or to think of himself as being one. He wanted to be the one in control, the one who wielded the upper hand for once.

This wasn't the way to do it. He knew that. But he had to try.

He couldn't let Jack think that he would just sit back and wait for Hannibal to attack him again. That phone call had given him proof that Hannibal certainly wasn't letting the grass grow under his feet.

Will didn't doubt for one moment that his nemesis was coming after him, and he wasn't going to make an easy target for Hannibal to get to. He was doing all that he could to be more vigilant than usual, and he had even accepted a guard on his house around the clock, even when he wasn't there.

He wasn't entirely comfortable with knowing that cops were watching his home, but it _did_ make him feel safer, even if he hated to admit that fact.

He'd told himself that it was a good idea, not only to keep himself as safe as possible, but to be sure that the dogs weren't harmed, either. They were a part of his family, too.

But was he only fooling himself? He knew from bitter experience just how easy it was for Hannibal to slip around guards. He'd seen visceral proof of that before, at several of the murder scenes that Hannibal had left behind in his grisly work. Bodyguards weren't going to keep him safe if Hannibal was determined to end him.

That scar on his belly was more proof of that fact that if Hannibal really wanted to get to him and harm him, then he'd manage to do it. A determined Hannibal was .... well, unstoppable.

But Will wasn't going to put a target on his back and make himself a sitting duck.

"He's already left a mark on you, Will, one that'll be with you for the rest of your life," Jack said softly. "You could have been killed. You're my friend. I don't want to take a chance on losing you like that."

Was Jack concerned for his friend -- or for his pet freak who brought him so much acclaim within the FBI for solving crimes? Will asked himself. He was almost ashamed for thinking of Jack in that way -- after all, this man had stuck his neck out to help Will before, and had nearly lost his own life in the process.

His experiences had made him cynical to the point where he now found it hard to trust anyone, even his friends. He really should lose that attitude; he needed all the friends he could get at this point.

"I know." Will's own voice was soft, almost apologetic. "But I can't just sit around and wait for him to come to me, Jack. That's the worst thing I could possibly do. I feel like it's what he expects. He thinks that I"m going to feel guilty about 'betraying' him, and that I'll offer myself up as a sacrifice on his altar."

Jack's lips tightened, his scowl becoming even more pronounced. "Well, that's not going to happen, Will, no matter what he might think. We're going to catch him, and this time, you will _not_ be used as bait."

Will heaved a sigh, then nodded slowly, reluctantly.

He was still healing. He couldn't take the risk of setting that healing back by trying to confront Hannibal, either on his own or with others. He was still weak, at least in the physical sense.

But he _would_ heal in time, just as he'd told Jack. And then he would be able to stand face-to-face with Hannibal, look him in the eye, and arrest the psychotic, murderous bastard. He would be able to put Hannibal behind bars, where he belonged, and feel that it was a job well done.

He lived for that time. He was just waiting for the day when he would be completely healed, and that confrontation could happen, with him being the one to come out on top.

He might have to wait a while, but he _would_ have his revenge.


	19. Tooth and Nail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will receives a message from Hannibal and realizes that his nemesis is much closer than he had previously thought.

Will stopped his car in front of his house, waiting a moment before getting out.

He could hear the dogs inside, barking at the door. They wanted to be let out, to have their run and then be fed. He would do that in a few minutes, but at the moment, he needed to relax.

The first few days back at work hadn't been as rough as he'd thought they would be. He was still physically weak, but his mind was as strong as ever.

At least he wasn't hobbling around on a cane or anything like that; he hadn't thought that he would have to, not really, but he hadn't been sure about that. There had been times when the pain in his stomach had nearly doubled him over, and he had almost wished that he'd waited longer to come back.

But that had passed fairly quickly, and now he felt that he could handle full days, at least in his classroom. He hadn't been back out in the field yet, and maybe that was a good thing.

He wanted to keep helping Jack. He knew that what he did saved lives, and that was what he wanted to do. But he wasn't up to full strength yet, and Jack understood that.

He hated this weakness, but it wasn't something he could wish away.

It would take time for him to be back up to speed, and he knew that. But it was so frustrating not to feel completely himself again, to be back on his feet at full capacity.

Still, he was doing well. He wasn't having any nightmares about Hannibal any more -- at least, not yet, Will told himself grimly. Those were probably coming; he didn't doubt that Hannibal would find some way to invade his dreams, just as those postcards invaded his waking hours.

He hadn't received another one yet, but he checked the post office every day -- twice a day now. He was just waiting for the next missive to come his way.

When it did, he hoped that he'd get some clue as to where Hannibal was.

That probably wasn't going to happen, he thought with a grimace. The bastard was too good at covering up his tracks. If anyone knew how to hide away, it was Hannibal.

And when he came back out into the light, it would probably be with some grandiose gesture, Will thought sourly. He was good at that, too. Hannibal knew all about _grand guignol_.

Sighing, he opened the door and got out of the car, walking slowly to the front porch and up the steps. He would let the dogs out to run, then feed them and make his own dinner, and spend the evening with a book. Or maybe he'd even try to go to bed early and get more rest than he'd been getting lately.

He saw it the moment he stepped onto the porch; a neatly folded sheet of paper tucked into the crack between the door and the frame. He didn't have to ask himself who it was from.

A piece of paper; not a letter, not a postcard. This hadn't been sent through the mail; it had been hand-delivered to his door, left here by the hand of the person who had sent it.

That meant Hannibal was _here_. If not in Wolf Trap, then close by, watching and waiting. Will swung around to study the woods around his house, narrowing his eyes. If Hannibal was out there, then he was well-hidden, and he wasn't going to show himself yet.

No, he would wait until Will was off-balance, until he had let his guard down. Then he would appear, and Will's entire world would turn upside down yet again.

Will didn't want to touch that paper. He knew that if he did, then he would be drawn into Hannibal's world again; the playing field would switch to one that gave Hannibal the advantage.

He was already off-balance and unsteady. This would just make things worse.

But he couldn't simply stand here staring at that piece of paper. He had to touch it, unfold it, read it and see what it said. He had to know whatever it was that Hannibal had to say to him.

His hand trembling, he reached out and took the paper. Will closed his eyes, taking one deep breath, then another. He was going to need all of his fortitude if he wanted to read this page without feeling panic rise in him; he hadn't expected this to happen, wasn't prepared for any kind of confrontation.

He wasn't confronting Hannibal, he reminded himself. Not yet, anyway. This was only a piece of paper with some words written on it. This was just a preliminary.

It was only the first step of whatever was to come.

The note was short and simple, with only two lines. _"I'm here, Will, and I'm watching you and biding my time. We will see each other soon enough."_ There was no greeting, and no signature.

Will couldn't hold back a shudder of revulsion. He didn't want to hold this piece of paper in his hands, knowing that Hannibal had touched it.

He didn't want anything more to do with Hannibal. That monster was out of his life; he wanted things to stay that way. But Hannibal had made it more than plain that they had unfinished business, and Will knew that he had to confront his nemesis at least once more for all of this to be over.

He wouldn't be free of Hannibal until that final confrontation was over and done with, and one of them had come out the winner. Only one of them would emerge from that confrontation victorious.

He had the feeling that only one of them would emerge from it alive. Will shivered at the thought; Hannibal had almost killed him once. He didn't want to give his enemy another chance to do away with him.

But if he didn't confront Hannibal, then he would spend the rest of his life running.

He couldn't do that. He couldn't let Hannibal take charge of his life in that way, send him scurrying towards a hiding place any time it looked as though they might clash.

If that happened, then Hannibal would be the victor, and he wasn't going to allow that. He was going to stand his ground, confront the man who had caused him so much pain and turmoil, and he was going to do his best to defeat that monster and either send him to hell, or put him behind bars.

He didn't have much of a choice in that, Will thought as he pulled out his keys and unlocked the door. It was either face up to Hannibal, or be a scared rabbit for the remainder of his days.

He wasn't going to be a damned rabbit. He was going to stand up and fight.

Will's lips thinned into a grim, determined line. The last time he and Hannibal had confronted each other, he'd been too emotionally stunned to put up a fight. Well, the next time would be different.

He hadn't seen this one coming, hadn't expected any kind of contact from Hannibal this close to home. But he would deal with it, and not let it weaken him.

That was what Hannibal wanted to do. He wanted Will to be weak and confused, and then he would choose his time to attack, when Will least expected it. But he would find that it wouldn't be so easy to back his intended victim into a corner this time, Will vowed.

This time, Hannibal was going to find that a cornered rabbit could still turn around and bare its claws. That was exactly what he would do -- fight tooth and nail for the final victory.

He would fight, and he would win. There would be no more running, and when he and Hannibal met again, their final battle would result in a very different outcome.

The time had come to take a stand, and that was just what he would do.


	20. Taken Unawares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will knows that he isn't strong enough to confront Hannibal yet -- but he isn't going to give his nemesis the satisfaction of surprising him again.

Another message. One that he didn't want to deal with.

Will looked down at the piece of paper in his hand. The words on it chilled him; he wanted to obliterate them, not only from existence, but from his mind as well.

 _"Are you ready for us to meet, Will? I am. It will happen sooner than you think."_ Those words seemed to stare at him, taunting him, taking on a life of their own.

No, he wasn't ready to meet Hannibal. He knew that he wasn't strong enough yet, either mentally or physically. He hadn't really had enough time to process everything that had happened and come to terms with it, and he didn't need to have a confrontation with Hannibal on the table as well.

Yes, he _wanted_ to confront that monster, but not at this point. It wasn't time yet. Seeing Hannibal now, being face-to-face with him, would only throw him off-balance.

That was probably why Hannibal was sending these notes, and why he was staying close. It was his way of trying to intimidate WIll, trying to get back inside his head.

Will didn't intend to let that happen. Not now, and not ever.

The thought of Hannibal Lecter getting into his head again was more terrifying than anything he'd ever faced before in his life -- even more so than Hannibal gutting him.

Having that monster inside his mind again, knowing his thoughts, divining how he felt, would be the ultimate horror. Now that he knew exactly what Hannibal was, everything that he was recoiled from being anywhere near that reptilian being -- he couldn't even see Hannibal as human any more.

He wasn't human, Will told himself, shuddering. He was a monster. He had no redeeming qualities at all; there wasn't one single about him that Will could like or admire.

Yet at one time he _had_ admired Hannibal, and he was ashamed of that fact.

How could he have been so blind? How could he have been led so astray, and actually believed that Hannibal was a decent person? Why hadn't his empathy told him something, warned him?

That had been the one time his empathy seemed to have failed him; somehow, he couldn't help feeling that he should have _known_ that Hannibal was a horrendous monster. But he hadn't known until it was too late, and he had been snared in that particular spider's web.

Of course, the scales had fallen from his eyes after that had happened, and he'd finally been able to see clearly. But that clarity had come too late, and at a high price.

He'd lost his freedom, and lost his good reputation for a while. He had been exonerated, but there were still people who looked at him as though they felt he could have been guilty.

He was still recovering from that experience, and there were times when Will wondered if he could ever completely get past it. That experience had been devastating in so many ways; some nights, he still woke up in a cold sweat, feeling as though he was locked into that cell and would never have his freedom back.

But he _was_ free, and he _had_ been proven innocent. Though he hated the fact that his innocence, as well as his incarceration, had happened because of Hannibal's machinations.

Hannibal was the puppet master, pulling the strings of Will's life.

How long was this going to last? Will wondered. When would Hannibal come to his home and confront him, and try to finish what he'd started at their fateful last meeting?

Will stared at the words on the paper again, written in Hannibal's neat, precise script. The truth was that no, he wasn't in any way ready for them to meet again. He didn't want to see Hannibal Lecter again unless the other man was behind bars, at a safe distance from him.

But he couldn't tell Hannibal that, of course. Acknowledging that he wasn't ready for that confrontation would give his nemesis far too much power over the situation.

He had to pretend that he _was_ ready, and that he was prepared for anything.

"What do you think?" he murmured, looking down at the note in his hand again. He wanted to crumple it up and throw it away, but he couldn't do that. He would have to take it to Jack.

He realized that he had answered Hannibal's question with one of his own -- and he had to wonder just what his former associate's answer to that question would be.

Did Hannibal know full well that Will wasn't ready to face him yet? Did he know of the quivering fear that still trembled inside Will whenever he thought of that last encounter, the sickening feeling of vertigo that came over him when he let himself remember how that knife had felt slicing open his stomach?

He shook his head as though to clear it, clutching the note in his hand. He hoped that Hannibal didn't realize any of that. If he did, then he most definitely had the upper hand already.

Will squared his shoulders, his manner determined. He wasn't going to give Hannibal that upper hand. He _would_ be ready when they met again, no matter what it took.

He could only hope that the confrontation wouldn't come too soon and take him completely unawares.

Hannibal had managed to do that once, but Will didn't intend to let him have that chance again. This time, he knew just what Hannibal was capable of doing.

Inadvertently, his hand went to his stomach, fingers tracing along the scar. Even though he wasn't touching his flesh, only feeling the scar through the thin fabric of his shirt, he could feel every detail of it. He'd touched it often enough, his fingers following it, hating it even as he memorized how it felt.

The next time they met, Hannibal would no longer have the power to take him unawares. And he wouldn't have to answer a question with a question.

The next time, he would have an answer -- and _he_ would wield the upper hand.


	21. Ready

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will wants to believe that he's ready to confront Hannibal again, but deep down he knows that isn't true.

This was crazy. He was losing his mind.

He was letting his fear push him ever closer to the edge, until he tumbled over it into eternity. If that happened, he'd never be able to climb out of that abyss.

He would never find sanity again if he let go of it now. He had to push this darkness away, go on with his life as he normally would, and not let Hannibal affect him so much.

Will raised a hand to rub at his eyes, knowing that he wasn't going to move from his position in front of the door.

He'd been sitting here all night, ever since he had found that note from Hannibal. What else could he do? He was sure that nis nemesis was coming for him, and as crazy as it sounded, he was determined to be prepared. He would know the second that Hannibal was outside his home.

He had to protect himself. He had no other choice.

He swallowed hard, jumping slightly in his chair when he heard a sound outside. Was it Hannibal, coming up the front steps to knock on the door?

No, he was being silly, Will admonished himself. Hannibal wouldn't simply walk up here and knock. He would take Will by surprise, coming unbidden out of the darkness.

That was his way, Will thought bitterly. To take people by surprise when they least expected it.

Unwillingly, his fingers found the scar on his stomach, tracing over it again and again. This was what he had left of his last fateful meeting with Hannibal, the scar that would be with him for the rest of his days. He would never be able to erase that memory from his mind, not with the physical reminder on his skin.

And Hannibal had known that. He _knew_ that he would be leaving Will with a memory that would remain as fresh as it had been when it had been carved into his flesh.

He knew that Hannibal was coming for him. It was only a matter of time; he'd known that ever since he'd awakened in that hospital bed and known that he was still alive.

The postcards, and the last handwritten note that he'd received from his nemesis, were only proof that Hannibal meant to finish what he'd started on that dark night that seemed so long ago now.

It hadn't been that long, not really. But it seemed like a lifetime.

Will could still remember every detail of that night, from the moment he'd called Hannibal to let him know that the FBI was closing in, until he had passed out in a pool of his own blood.

That night still came back to him in his dreams, every detail of all that had happened so crystal-clear in his mind. Going into that house, finding Abigail still alive -- and then watching her die at Hannibal's hands. Then the fatal embrace, and the thrust of that knife into his stomach.

He could still feel it, twisting, turning, gutting him. Will closed his eyes, pushing back the panic, taking deep breaths. He couldn't afford to lose his composure. Not now.

Not when he knew that Hannibal had to be out there somewhere, probably closer than he realized.

Oh yes, Hannibal was out there. He might not be outside the house at this very moment, but Will didn't doubt that he was watching. Waiting, and planning for his next move.

Another sound from the front porch made him gasp and clutch the gun that he held in one hand even more tightly. But as he listened, he could hear nothing else, no sound from outside.

It must have been an animal that had come up onto the porch and, finding nothing there, had scampered away again, he decided. There was nothing out there, nothing but the night and the wind whistling intermittently through the trees. He had nothing to worry about. Not tonight.

Hannibal wasn't out there, waiting patiently for him to let his guard down so he could find a way into the house. Sitting here like this waiting for him was a waste of time.

He was making a fool out of himself. He should know that by now.

That was what Hannibal ultimately wanted of him, wasn't it? Hannibal wanted him to look foolish, to run in circles chasing some phantom that he could never catch.

Hannibal also wanted him to unravel, to lose his sanity bit by bit. Hannibal wanted him to become so paranoid that his mind became completely unhinged.

Well, that wasn't going to happen. He wasn't going to come undone.

He had more sense than that, Will told himself firmly, standing up and turning the chair back around in the position it had been sitting in before he'd decided that facing the door was the safest option. He wasn't going to give in to Hannibal's manipulations again.

That was what this was. It was Hannibal manipulating him, only from a distance this time.

How he would laugh if he was here and could see this! Will thought, clenching his teeth. He would think that this was all a grand game, one that he could be proud of.

After all, he'd engineered the game, and he was pulling it off in a grand style. He was literally making his victim crazy, which was exactly what he wanted to do. Will put the gun down on the coffee table, clenching his hands at his sides into fists. Well, he wasn't going to give in to that manipulation. Not this time.

He'd had enough of playing Hannibal Lecter's games. This time, if there was a game to be played, _he_ would be the one who made the rules.

He was strong. He was prepared. He was ready.

But this wasn't the night for their confrontation, Will told himself. Maybe he was ready, but there was a part of him that still felt panicked at the thought of facing Hannibal again.

There was still a part of him that wanted to skitter away in fear. Sighing, Will turned towards the stairs that led up to his bedroom. Maybe he could find oblivion in sleep for a few hours.

The breath froze in his throat as he instantly recognized the dark figure standing on the bottom step.

"Hello, Will." Hannibal's voice seemed to reverberate in the quiet room.


	22. Careful What You Wish For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will isn't ready for the consequences of a wish that should never have been made.

He had wished for the confrontation, just to get it over with.

Now Will knew that he should have been more careful about what he wished for, because he definitely wasn't ready for this. Not in any way. He wasn't strong enough.

He had no words for this man; he just stood there, staring at Hannibal, unable to speak. It was as though his tongue had frozen, as if his breath was caught in his throat.

When he could finally speak, the only words that he could force out were the obvious ones that anyone would ask in such a situation. "How did you get into my house?" Will managed to whisper, his throat going dry. "If you hurt any of my dogs, you bastard --"

Hannibal raised a hand, and Will stopped in mid-sentence. "I didn't harm any of your pets, Will. You forget, they know me. They had no problem with letting me enter the house."

"Have you been upstairs all this time?" Will didn't want to ask, but he had to know. He had to know if he'd felt safe, when the worst danger of any he could face had been right above his head.

Hannibal nodded, a small smile curving his lips.

"Really, Will, you should make it harder for intruders to enter your home," he admonished the younger man. "It was quite easy for me to gain entrance, even with the dogs."

He knew that. Really, he did, Will told himself. But then, he'd never expected anyone who posed a threat to him to break into his home. He didn't know why; it was ridiculous to assume that with all the criminals he'd put in jail, not one of them would get out and try to harm him, or someone from their families.

He was discovering the folly of thinking that he was safe out here in the country now. He wasn't safe. Actually, he was more vulnerable than he would be if he lived around people.

There was no one here to help him. He was all alone.

No one would hear him if he cried out for help. No one would come to his rescue. He was trapped alone here with the most dangerous criminal he'd ever known.

His house was too far away from any others for him to hope that he could run for help, even if he could make it out of this room. Hannibal would catch him far too easily.

Will tried to weigh his options, even as he took a step backward. He could run for the front door, of course. But with his long legs and swift stride, he didn't doubt that Hannibal would be on him before he could throw the bolt and unlock the door to escape into the darkness outside.

And he wasn't altogether sure that he could grab his gun on the way to the door. It was right there, on the table, only a few feet from him -- but not in his line of escape.

He could lunge for the gun -- but again, Hannibal could easily stop him. The other man was bigger, probably stronger, and faster than a speeding bullet.

While Will, for all his claims of strength, still wasn't at his best. Even at his best, Hannibal would be a match for him, and at the moment, he knew that he was completely overpowered if he decided to struggle. The only way that he would get out of this situation was by using his wits, not his strength.

"What do you want, Hannibal?" he asked, carefully keeping his voice level and even. "Why are you in my house? Why did you come looking for me when you know it's dangerous?"

Hannibal tilted his head to the side as though he was contemplating Will's words, that little smile still on his lips. When he spoke, he sounded almost amused.

"My dear Will, do you think that _you_ are any sort of danger to me?"

Of course he didn't, but he couldn't let Hannibal know that. He had to make this man think that he was a match for his strength, or he'd never get out of this confrontation alive.

Will didn't doubt for a moment that Hannibal meant to kill him. He knew that the other man considered what he had done a horrible betrayal; he'd said as much during that last fateful meeting. He was sure that Hannibal was here to finish what he he had started then, and put an end to Will's existence.

Or did he have something else in mind, something more dark and sinister, something that would make Will suffer? He couldn't divine Hannibal's motives, not this time.

He couldn't get inside that twisted mind. He'd never really been able to.

"That's not an answer," he retorted, wondering just what Hannibal was trying to do. "You haven't told me why you're here. I assume it's not for a friendly visit."

Hannibal's eyes narrowed, making him look even more like the reptile that Will thought of him as being. At the moment, he looked like nothing so much as a snake preparing to strike.

"I am here to settle a score, Will," he finally said, his tone steady and even. "We still have a great deal of unfinished business between us, as I'm sure you realise. Did you think that I was merely going to slink away and not address that before I left for good?"

Of course he hadn't thought that, but he _had_ thought he'd had more time to prepare for it. He had thought he would be ready for this confrontation.

But he wasn't, and he wondered if he ever would have been. This wasn't how he'd thought that he would see Hannibal again. This was nothing like anything he had imagined.

Will didn't know what to do or say. He was completely at a loss.

He took another step back, hoping that he could reach for his gun with one more step -- and with that one movement, Hannibal moved forward, more swiftly than Will had expected.

Within seconds, Hannibal had moved to where Will stood, one arm wrapping around the young man's waist. Will had turned to flee to the door, and his back was pressed against Hannibal's chest.

Will wanted to scream when he felt one hand move through his hair, almost in a caress. "Will, did you really think that you could escape from me?" Hannibal whispered, his lips against Will's ear. "That was silly of you. You belong to me. You always have. And tonight, I will prove it."

There was a cloth pressed against his mouth, over his nose, and for just a moment Will wondered why Hannibal had chosen to use chloroform, instead of some kind of injection.

As everything around him faded to black, Will struggled to stay conscious, but his senses faded, and he slumped back into Hannibal's arms with only one thought in his mind.

He really should have been much more careful about what he'd wished for.


	23. Trapped in Unreality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is caught in a trap with no way out, and few options for survival.

Will's head was pounding as if it was an anvil being hit by a hammer.

He didn't know why he couldn't raise a hand to his head, or why he was lying on his stomach. He never slept on his stomach. He usually slept on his back.

It took him several long moments to realize that he couldn't put a hand to his head because his wrists were bound , held down at the edges of his bed.

He wanted to struggle, but something told him to lie still, to find out just what was going on before he made any rash decisions. Struggling could bring disaster down on him; he had no idea why he was being held captive, and he didn't want his captor to get any ideas about harming him.

It took Will several more long moments to realize that his legs were bound as well -- and that he was stark naked, his body bare and exposed.

The thought made a cold rush of fear go through him. Who had done this? Who was holding him prisoner -- and why? What was going on? Why couldn't he remember?

Slowly, memory began to come back to him -- which escalated his fear.

Hannibal. He remembered turning to go upstairs to his bedroom -- and seeing Hannibal standing there on the steps. His nemesis had moved towards him, and then ....

Hannibal had overpowered him with chloroform, and had apparently carried him upstairs to his bedroom, undressed him and bound him to his own bed. He didn't want to think about what Hannibal intended to do to him, especially now that he knew what Hannibal had done all of his other victims.

Did this man intend for him to be a victim? Was he some kind of sacrifice? Or did Hannibal have something else in mind for him -- something that would ultimately be much worse?

Will swallowed hard, closing his eyes and trying to fight back his fear.

There was no reason for him to be naked, not unless Hannibal intended to .... No. Rape couldn't be his intention. He'd never thought that Hannibal _desired_ him.

But rape wasn't a crime of desire, wasn't it? It was considered a sex crime, but in Will's eyes, it had little to do with sex. It was about fear, about power and control. Hannibal didn't desire him -- Hannibal wanted to terrify him, to show him that _he_ had all of the power, that he was in control.

He wasn't going to let that monster see how frightened he was. He was going to be cool and calm, and he would talk his way out of what he thought Hannibal intended to do.

He might not be able to save his own life, be he wasn't going to let Hannibal victimize him sexually. He wasn't going to give in to that. He'd face death before he would be a rape victim.

How was he going to stop that from happening? a voice in the back of his mind asked. Was he going to simply ask to be freed, and expect Hannibal to be a gentleman and do so? Did he expect that depraved monster to _apologize_ for all that he'd done, and to go on his merry way?

Hannibal certainly wasn't going to let him go and then hold out his hands for Will to slap the cuffs on him and cart him away to jail, that was for sure.

Will tested the bonds; they were far too tight for him to hope that he could break free.

He was in a lot more trouble than he'd ever thought he could be in. And his panic was escalating, no matter how much he tried to push it down and bury it.

Hannibal was either going to rape him, or kill him. Possibly he planned to do both. Though Will was sure that he'd use a condom, so as not to leave any DNA traces. He would probably be found days later, dead in his own home, in his own bed, and people would think the worst of him.

They'd probably think that he had been the victim of some man he'd picked up to have sex with ..... and they'd whisper about how he must have enjoyed rough trade.

Everyone knew that he was gay. That wasn't the problem.

Will didn't want to be seen as a victim, as someone who made himself available to men and let them have their way with him. He wanted them to know that _Hannibal_ had been his killer.

Would anyone know? Would they even guess? Jack might, but he was the only one who would more than likely put two and two together and get seven.

Would anyone else even _care_ that he was gone? Will knew that he had a few tentative friends amongst the FBI, but he wasn't what anyone could by any stretch of the imagination call popular. It wasn't as though anyone would really even notice that he wasn't around any more.

What would people say when he was gone? Would they talk about him behind their hands in whispers, or would they openly acknowledge the facts of his death?

He tugged at the bonds again, even though he knew that it was useless. He was starting to feel as though he was stuck in some sort of unreality, trapped in another man's body.

This didn't _feel_ real. It was all too strange, too bizarre.

This couldn't be happening to him. Things like this didn't happen to people like him. He'd thought that he would meet his death chasing a suspect, out there in the field.

Instead, he was apparently going to either be raped and murdered by a cannibalistic serial killer. Will shuddered to think of what Hannibal would do with his body; he didn't even want to consider it. He knew all too well what that monster was probably planning to do with him.

Would his body ever be found -- even parts of it? Or would he simply disappear, never to be seen again, without anyone knowing what had happened to him?

That was the most frightening thought of all.

There was no point in struggling. He should simply lie here and wait, take deep breaths and try to calm himself, It was really his only option at the moment.

But that was what Hannibal wanted him to do -- to lie here and _think_ about what was happening, and to let his panic escalate until he couldn't fight it off.

He was more and more feeling as though he was trapped in another man's body, as though this was some play he was sitting back and watching. This couldn't be happening to him. This was just some dream, some hallucination he was having. It was a trick that his mind was playing on him.

But as Will flexed one wrist and tried to pull at the cords that bound him, he knew again that it was no dream. This was all too frighteningly _real_.

He knew that Hannibal was here somewhere, in his house. Was the bastard already setting plans in motion that would convince people of how Will had died?

Was he planting some "evidence" that Will had been killed by a random rapist?

Will raised his head when he heard footsteps on the stairs; Hannibal was coming back to the bedroom, and his stomach roiled at the thought of what might be coming.

Was Hannibal going to rape him? Was that the fate that was in store for him -- raped and murdered, then having his body dismembered and eventually _eaten_ by someone he'd once been foolish enough to think of as a friend? Was this what had been intended for him from the moment of his birth?

Or had he brought it on himself by being drawn towards a flame that he couldn't stay away from? Had this somehow been his _own_ fault? Was he responsible for what was happening?

Will closed his eyes, his muscles tightening, his nerves strung taut.

The footsteps stopped, and Will could almost feel Hannibal's eyes on him, that gaze traveling over his naked body. His skin crawled; he wanted to cover himself, but couldn't.

"Ah, you're awake at last," Hannibal murmured, his voice almost a purr. Will turned his head towards the door, to see his nemesis standing there, a predatory smile on his face.


	24. Seen As A Victim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last thing that Will has ever wanted is to see himself as being a victim, but this time, it may be unavoidable.

Will swallowed hard, not trusting himself to speak.

If he did, then he would surely begin screaming, and once that had started, he doubted that he would ever be able to stop. He would simply keep screaming, on and on into infinity.

"I'm sure that you know what I intend to do," Hannibal said, walking into the room to stand by the bed. "You should have known all along that your fate is inevitable, Will."

Will didn't nod, didn't speak, didn't respond. Hannibal was standing right beside him, and he had to struggle to keep himself still, not to shrink as far away as his bonds would allow him to do. The other man was still fully clothed, which made him fairly sure of what was about to happen.

But he would fight to the best of his ability. He wasn't going to let this monster kill him and make his death look like some random murder without putting up the struggle of his life.

Hannibal looked down at him, a small smile curving that thin, almost lipless mouth. "You will not die today, Will. That is not my plan for you."

Rape, then. Will had dreaded that even more than the thought of death.

He didn't want this man to touch him, wouldn't have wanted it even if this was a completely different situation. He might be gay, but he had never desired Hannibal Lecter.

He had never wanted this man in any way. Their friendship, if it could be called that, had been an uneasy one since the beginning, and there had never been any hint of sexual desire in it, at least not from Will's direction. Maybe he'd read Hannibal's signals all wrong.

Maybe Hannibal had always wanted him, but he didn't think so. What he was about to do wasn't a crime of desire, it was about power and control. Nothing more.

Hannibal didn't want him in a sexual way. He had no doubt of that.

Hannibal merely wanted to control him, to terrify him into submission. Hannibal wanted to wield power over him, just as he did when he was killing someone.

This was a different kind of killing. Hannibal knew that he would be killing a part of Will's soul with this act, reducing him to nothing more than a helpless victim.

Or maybe Hannibal _did_ want him in the sexual sense, and this was the only way that he would have what he wanted. At this point, the reasons _why_ didn't matter much to Will. He was only concerned with what would take place -- and being able to survive it.

Hannibal moved out of his range of vision, and Will could hear the rustle of clothes being removed and dropped to the floor. His muscles tightened, his body reacting to the sound.

This man was going to rape him, take him against his will. And afterward, he could very well end up dead, his body left here for days before it was discovered.

No, Hannibal had told him that he wasn't going to die today. Did that mean that rape was the only thing he was intent on, and that he would come back at some later time to take Will unawares, to end his life in some gruesome way? That was probably what he planned, to draw out the mental torture.

Will closed his eyes when he felt fingers trailing down his spine, then moving over the rounded curves of his ass. He didn't want this touch, wasn't aroused by it at all.

But his traitorous body was reacting in a way that he hadn't expected. A purely physical response, of course, but one that was still unsettling.

He didn't want Hannibal to think that he would enjoy this.

The bed creaked slightly as Hannibal lowered his weight to it; Will swallowed hard, struggling not to cry out in protest. He desperately wanted to break away, to scream, to run.

There was no chance of that. Not only was he bound too tightly to have any hope of freeing himself, but Hannibal was now on top of him, stroking cold hands down his sides, those long fingers stroking between his legs, cupping his balls, obviously trying to evoke some favorable response.

Will concentrated on not letting Hannibal have what he wanted; he wasn't going to give this monster intent on rape any satisfaction, if that was at all possible.

He would fight until the end, no matter what it might cost him.

When Hannibal thrust into him, he couldn't keep himself from crying out, a short, sharp scream that seemed to rent the air around them and reverberate off the walls.

Nothing had ever hurt this much; there had been no gentleness, no preparation other than those fingers before he had been violated, Hannibal's thrusts hard and deep.

Will gritted his teeth again the pain, trying his best not to make any sound at all, though he knew that small moans were escaping despite his best effort. He could hear Hannibal panting, feel the grip of one hand on his shoulder. That was sure to leave a dark bruise in the shape of those fingers.

He just wanted this to be over, to be done with, for Hannibal to leave. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to live after this was done; the humiliation seemed like too much to bear.

Just when he thought that he couldn't take it any more, Will heard Hannibal cry out softly, then felt the warm rush of his release. He struggled to hold his body back, but it was useless.

His own release came only moments later, to his shame and disgust.

He hadn't enjoyed this. He hadn't _wanted_ it. Hannibal had to know that his reactions were nothing more than the purely physical response of the male body to sexual stimulation.

He couldn't possibly think that somewhere deep within him, Will had welcomed this violation, had wanted to suffer so at the hands of a corrupt, conscienceless rapist.

Dimly, he felt Hannibal pull out of him, felt the bed move as the other man's weight was removed. His entire body felt wracked with pain; he didn't think that he'd be capable of moving even if Hannibal freed him. All he could do was lie here, and fight back tears of humiliation and pain.

Hannibal had left the room; Will could hear the water in the shower come on, and he closed his eyes. He could hardly believe what had just taken place.

It didn't feel quite _real_. It felt like a dream, a horrible dream that he would wake up from in time. But it wasn't a dream; it was all too true, even if he didn't want to admit to that fact.

Hannibal had raped him. He'd become nothing more than a victim.

Or had that been how Hannibal had always seen him, as nothing more than someone to victimize and then rid himself of when the time was right? He had to wonder about that.

After what seemed like a very long period of time, Hannibal came back into the room, and Will could hear the rustling of his clothes as he got dressed again. Within moments, the other man was leaning over him, and Will had to once again fight the urge to flinch away from him.

"I give you your life, Will," Hannibal whispered as he loosened the cords around Will's left wrist. "But do not think that you won't have to look over your shoulder. I am not done with you."

With those words, he exited the room; Will heard his footsteps going down the stairs.

Within a few moments, the front door slammed, and he could hear a car's engine start up. The crunching of wheels on gravel told him that his nemesis had gone.

It took him longer than he'd thought it would to twist his wrist enough to free it from the loosened bonds; when he did, he reached for his other hand, loosening the ropes that bound his wrist to the bedpost. Within moments, he'd managed to sit up and free his ankles as well.

Then he curled himself into a ball, pulled the covers up, and closed his eyes. He didn't want to move, didn't want to think about what had just happened.

It still felt like a dream, but the pain in his body told him that it was real.

After a while, he forced himself to sit up, then to get to his felt. He almost wanted to scream when he took a step; the pain seemed to intensify tenfold.

He'd have to make his way downstairs and call Jack, tell him what had happened. He didn't want to, but he really had no choice in the matter. He had to let Jack know so that he could start a manhunt for Hannibal; there was no way that an attack on an FBI agent could be pushed aside.

It would be humiliating, but he had to put the wheels into motion. Hannibal had to be caught, and quickly, before he came back into Will's life for what would probably be the last time.

He had to let himself be seen as a victim, if only for a short while.


	25. Only Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope that Hannibal will eventually be caught is the only thing that keeps Will going.

"We'll catch him, Will." Jack's voice was soft, yet determined. He put a hand on the younger man's shoulder, squeezing it gently. "He can't hide forever."

"I think you're underestimating Hannibal," Will said, his tone grim. "He has the whole world to hide in, and he might even already be out of the country."

Will sincerely hoped that his words weren't the truth.

More than anything, he wanted to put Hannibal Lecter behind bars, to find some way of punishing him for what he had done. Hannibal _deserved_ a horrific punishment.

He was probably lucky to be alive, he told himself, shuddering at the remembrance of the last time he'd seen Hannibal. The memory was still far too fresh in his mind.

He'd expected a confrontation at some point, but he hadn't expected to be so completely helpless and unable to protect himself. He'd been taken unawares, trapped and brought to ground, just like a stag that was being hunted. Only Hannibal hadn't zeroed in for the kill shot just yet.

But he would. Will didn't doubt that for a moment. When he least expected it, Hannibal would be there, behind him, all around him, ready to deliver the killing blow.

He could never go for a walk in the woods again and feel safe. He could never relax when he was fishing in the lake near his house, for fear that Hannibal would be around.

That was exactly what Hannibal wanted.

He wanted to engender fear, to make Will feel that he was being watched all the time, to make him feel nervous and jumpy and on edge. He wanted to take Will's peace of mind away from him.

Will's lips thinned into a firm line as anger coursed through him. Hannibal wanted him to be fearful, to shut himself away from life. Well, he wouldn't let the bastard do that.

He wasn't going to be afraid to live. If he locked himself away, if he let his fears take him over, then Hannibal would win. He would be doing exactly what his nemesis expected of him,and he wouldn't give in to that. He wouldn't be what Hannibal expected; he would rise up and fight back.

He was no wilting flower to be used and thrown away. He wasn't the trash that Hannibal apparently thought he was; he was stronger than anyone gave him credit for.

He _would_ get past this, even though it might be difficult. He wasn't going to let some psychotic murderer destroy his life, or his sense of self-worth.

"Don't let him get to you, Will," Jack told him, jerking Will out of his thoughts and back into the present moment. "You know that's what he wants. He wants to be in your thoughts, preying on you even when he's not around. Don't let him do that. You have to be strong."

"I will be, Jack," Will said, looking up at his boss with a wan smile. "I'm not going to let him break me. He may have tried, but he didn't succeed, I assure you of that."

"Good." Jack squeezed his shoulder again before letting go, nodding towards the doorway. "I need to leave for a while, but I'll be back. And Will? Don't give up hope."

Will nodded, taking a deep breath before he spoke again.

"Right now, I'm feeling like hope is about the only thing I have left," he said, his voice low, the words coming from his mouth honest and heartfelt. "I'm just holding on to it with everything I have."

"Keep doing that," Jack told him. "Will, we _are_ going to get the bastard. And he'll have a rape charge added to everything else. He'll be put away for life."

"I know that." Will managed a smile as Jack left, watching the other man as he walked out of the door. Yes, Hannibal was going to be behind bars for the rest of his life once he was caught. There was no way that he could commit all of those murders, as well as attack a Federal agent, and not pay for it.

But would that payment be enough? Will thought as he shifted uncomfortably in the hospital bed. Or would he always feel that Hannibal hadn't been made to suffer as he himself had?

He hadn't lied to Jack when he'd said that hope was all he had now. He could only hope that they would catch Hannibal, and the monster who had defiled him would pay for what he had done.

That was what he was living for at the moment.

He would be out of the hospital and back in his own home tonight; he wasn't going to stay here indefinitely. There was really nothing wrong with him at this point.

Will didn't know how he would feel about staying alone in his own home, but he was going to try to tough it out. Though he knew that he'd appreciate it if someone stayed with him, he couldn't ask Jack to do that. But maybe there was one other friend he could count on.

It would mean telling Bev what had happened, but he was sure that he could trust her to keep it to herself and not talk to anyone else. She wasn't the kind of person to gossip.

Yes, he could trust Bev. And he could talk to her.

Not many people would understand what he'd been through. They would think that he should have fought harder, that because he was a man, this shouldn't have happened to him.

But Bev wouldn't take that attitude. She would listen to him, and she would understand how he felt. She would be there for him, as a friend should be.

She would understand why he felt that only hope was keeping him going at the moment.

Clinging to that hope felt like the only lifeline he had left.


	26. Know Thine Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Hannibal are sworn enemies now -- and only one of them can win the deadly game they're playing.

If he and Hannibal hadn't been sworn enemies before, they certainly were now.

Will touched his stomach gingerly, wincing automatically, even though the pain of being gutted had long since subsided. He was lucky to be alive, and he knew it.

He didn't want to think about what had happened the last time he and Hannibal had crossed paths. He _couldn't_ let himself think about that; if he did, he would go insane.

He needed to put that horrible experience behind him as best he could, and move on with his life. And he had to use all of his energies to catch Hannibal, to make sure that the bastard was put behind bars for the rest of his life, not only for all of the murders he had committed, but for the rape of an FBI agent.

Will's fists clenched involuntarily, without his conscious mind thinking about what he was doing. He _would_ find Hannibal. He _would_ be made to pay for his crimes.

But not with death. Oh, no, that was far too good for him. No, what Will wanted was to see his enemy in a cage for the rest of his life, deprived of his freedom.

That would be a fitting punishment for someone like Hannibal.

He knew that the other man prized that freedom, that he thought he was smarter than his FBI nemesis, that he could continue to move about freely and kill with impunity.

He would make sure that didn't happen. No matter what it took, he _would_ put Hannibal behind bars, and he would take great pleasure in doing so.

All he wanted right now was to see his enemy brought down, to see Hannibal helpless and cornered. He'd thought that it had happened before, the night that the bastard had killed Abigail and gutted him, leaving him for dead. But he had been so wrong. He had overestimated himself.

He had reached too far, and made the wrong calculations. He should have been far more careful, and not have thought that it would be so easy to trap a wily beast like Hannibal.

Maybe he had been guilty of the same pride, the same hubris, that Hannibal had always shown. Maybe in that respect, the two of them were more alike than he'd ever have thought.

He hated to admit that he could be anything like Hannibal, but he had to admit that he _did_ share a few qualities with his enemy -- and he hoped that some of them were good ones. Like his tenacity to see something through to the end, no matter how bitter it might be.

He'd had enemies before, of course. No one got to where he was in the FBI without making those. But Hannibal was the fiercest nemesis he'd ever had, or ever would.

He had never encountered anyone who epitomized evil to him in the way that Hannibal did. And Will hoped that he never would again. Once in a lifetime was more than enough.

He just wished that evil hadn't decided to focus on _him_.

Will knew that Hannibal was waiting patiently, simply biding his time before he could jump out of the darkness again, attacking when Will least expected him to.

What was that old saying about knowing thine enemy? He struggled to remember it, then gave up. It wasn't important, anyway. He knew all that he had to know about Hannibal.

He knew that his enemy was smart, and wily. He had gotten away with dozens, maybe even hundreds, of murders over the years. And it wouldn't be easy to bring him to justice. But there was one thing that could be his downfall, and Will had every intention of exploiting that one chink in his enemy's armor.

Hannibal was a proud man. His pride would eventually bring him down; that hubris would get the better of him, and he wouldn't be able to resist a little bragging.

He thought far too much of himself. And that would be how Will could bring him down, make sure that he spent the rest of his life in prison, where he belonged.

Yes, he would make his enemy pay for all of the crimes he'd committed.

Not least of all the crimes against himself, Will thought, his hands clenching into fists again. Hannibal deserved to pay dearly for those atrocities.

That was what he wanted to see more than anything else -- Hannibal behind bars, suffering the same imprisonment that he had intended for Will when he'd framed him for those crimes that Hannibal himself had perpetrated. It would be such a delicious irony to be on the other side of those bars.

He would track his enemy down, and he would make that enemy pay for all that he had done. In the end, justice would prevail. He would make sure of that.

He would win this game, if it was the last thing he ever did.


	27. See No Evil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will feels guilty for not having known how evil Hannibal was right from the beginning.

"It wasn't your fault, Will." Jack's voice was very soft in the quiet office.

Will shook his head, closing his eyes. No matter what Jack said, he would always feel that he should have done more, should have seen what Hannibal was.

He had been the person closest to Hannibal, the one who the other man had picked out to be his .... well, in a way, his protégé. He should have been more aware.

He couldn't help feeling that it was _his_ fault so many people had died. If he had seen through Hannibal's masks sooner, if he'd just been able to _know_ how dangerous the man was .... But he hadn't known, and because of that, too many people had lost their lives.

He hadn't realized in time that Hannibal was evil. He had caused all of those people to become victims; it had been his failing that had let them down.

At least he had somewhat atoned for that, or tried to. But Hannibal was still out there, and there was no telling how many more people he would kill.

He did, after all, know that Will would feel guilty about those deaths.

"You can't be blamed for not seeing through him, Will," Jack said, sighing. "None of us did. We all thought that he was what he appeared to be."

"No one believed me when I first found out what he was," Will pointed out. "Everybody wanted to believe that _I_ was a killer, and that he was this benevolent nice guy."

"I always had a bad feeling about him," Jack said, his tone thoughtful. "When I first met him, something just seemed .... off to me. But I ignored that. I made myself believe that he was all he said he was. I was a fool, Will, and I'm sorry. My reluctance to see his true colors could have gotten you killed."

"That's not your fault," Will said, sighing again. "Like you said, he had everybody fooled. Nobody could see behind his mask because nobody really wanted to."

"He hid his evil really carefully," Jack said, nodding in agreement. "Because, of course, to him, it isn't really evil. He's not ever going to accede that what he does is wrong."

"Evil doesn't always look evil," Will said softly, shaking his head. "Sometimes it's staring right at us, and we don't even realize it. I didn't, that's for sure. Hannibal's good at hiding what he truly is. He's managed to fool a lot of people, but at least now we know the truth."

"He's going to slip up and make a mistake at some point," Jack told him, his voice gaining strength. "We'll catch him, Will. I promise you that. He'll be behind bars sooner or later."

"What worries me is that he's probably going to take a lot more lives before we can stop him," Will said, frowning. "And now, he's got Bedelia to help him."

He'd been a fool to trust her, too, he thought.

He'd been foolish to trust a lot of people. Jack should have been the one he'd put his trust in from the beginning; he should have known that the man he worked for was a man of honor.

Jack had nearly died at Hannibal's hands, just as he himself had. That made a bond between them, not just as a boss and a subordinate, but as friends and comrades.

What they had to do now was to pool their resources and work together to put an end to Hannibal's evil. Wherever the bastard went, wherever he tried to hide, they would catch him, Will vowed silently. He wouldn't rest until Hannibal was behind bars. And he would make sure that his nemesis was jailed for life.

Hannibal had wreaked havoc on far too many lives, most of all his own. Yes, putting him behind bars would, in some ways, be vengeance. But it was the right thing to do.

Hannibal had to pay for all the crimes he'd committed, all of the lives that he had taken. His evil had to be put to an end, before any more people lost their lives to him.

Will knew that he was the person who had to do that.

It wouldn't be easy. Hannibal wasn't going to be hiding in plain sight; it would be a struggle to catch him and bring him to justice. Ending his evil wouldn't be accomplished quickly.

But somehow, he would do it, Will told himself firmly. The weight of that responsibility now fell squarely on his shoulders, and he would carry out that task if it was the last thing he ever did.


	28. Not Afraid of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will gets an unexpected phone call, and says some things that he hadn't meant to let slip out.

Will knew who it was before he even clicked on his cell phone.

The number was unfamiliar; he should have had no idea who was calling him. But something within him told him whose voice he would hear on the other end of the line.

"Hello, Will." That voice was as smooth as butter; no, not butter, it was like fine wine washing down his throat, filling him with a sparkling clarity that no one else brought to him.

"Hello, Hannibal." Will was proud of himself for keeping the trembling sound out of his voice; hearing Hannibal speak would always bring back memories of those horrible hours he'd spent as this man's prisoner, and what Hannibal had done to him. That cruelty could never be erased.

"I would ask how you are, but I"m quite sure that you are not your usual self." Hannibal's tone was smooth, a sense of amusement in his words. "Though I hope you are well."

"As well as I can be," Will answered, struggling not to throw the phone down and crush it beneath the heel of his boot. He didn't want to hear this voice. Not now. It was too soon.

But would there ever be a good time for this confrontation?

No, he wasn't going to think of it as a confrontation. That word couldn't really be used until he met Hannibal face-to-face again, until he could look the other man in the eye.

It would happen one day. Will was sure of that. He would make sure of it -- or Hannibal would. They would eventually have their final showdown.

But that wasn't going to happen now. Today, they were simply golng to talk on the phone, playing the cat-and-mouse game that Hannibal was so fond of, and that drove him nearly insane. He just wanted some kind of clue as to where his nemesis was hiding, so he'd have a place to start.

If he could find out where Hannibal was, if he could even have one small clue as to where to start looking, then he'd do everything in his power to find Hannibal and put him behind bars.

That was what he had dedicated his life to, from the time that he'd spent lying in that hospital bed after Hannibal had gutted him. He would make sure this monster paid for his crimes.

"Will? Are you still there?" Was he wrong, or was there and undercurrent of anxiety in Hannibal's voice? Did the other man think that somehow Will was drifting away, that he'd lost interest in the little dance that Hannibal was leading him in? Oh, no, there was no fear of that happening.

"Yes, I'm here. Just .... thinking." Will deliberately let a note of scorn slip into his tone. He wanted Hannibal to detect that, to know just how he was regarded.

"Will, it sounds as though you don't want to talk to me." Hannibal's tone was somewhat admonishing. "I would think that you've been waiting for my call."

He had. He just wasn't going to give Hannibal the satisfaction of knowing it.

"You're out of my life, Hannibal," he said, gritting his teeth and hoping that the other man didn't hear the frustration behind his words. "I don't want you back in it."

"Ah, but I'm sure that you miss our little games, Will," Hannibal said, his voice almost a purr. "I gave you something to keep you going, something to make you feel alive."

"You killed a lot of innocent people," Will said before he could stop himself. "And I"m sure that you'll kill again before I can stop you. But I promise you this, Hannibal. I _will_ stop you. I don't know when or how, but I will. I'll stop you and put you behind bars, if it's the last thing I do."

"Careful of what you say, Will." The purr was gone from Hannibal's voice; his tone was harsh now. "Those words could become a self-fulfilling prophecy."

"Are you going to try to get rid of me, Hannibal?" Will's voice was cold, the words like icicles hanging from the eaves of his house. "I'm not afraid of you."

There was silence on the other end of the line. An ominous silence.

"You may not be, Will." Hannibal's voice was just as cold as Will's had been. "But you really, really should be."

There was a click, and Will was left staring at his phone in silence, fear burgeoning in his heart.


	29. Delicate Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The delicate flame of friendship that had once existed between Will and Hannibal has been snuffed out forever.

It was hard to believe that he'd ever thought he could love Hannibal.

Oh, it had never been a physical love. He'd never felt that way about Hannibal, even though he _was_ attracted to men as well as women.

He'd just never been attracted to Hannibal in a sexual way. No, he had loved the other man as a friend, as someone he felt that he could completely trust.

How wrong he had been about that, Will thought, with an inward snort. Hannibal had been the _last_ person he should have trusted, the _one_ person he knew who would throw him to the lions and watch with curiosity to see just how they would tear him apart.

He had put his trust in the wrong place, and he'd been lucky that his actions hadn't been fatal for him. He'd escaped, but he would always have the scars to show for it.

Both emotional _and_ physical scars, he thought as his hand drifted to his stomach, tracing along the ridge of scar tissue that Hannibal's knife had left.

Those scars weren't nearly as bad as the emotional ones, though.

Will pushed that thought away as quickly as it came into his head. He didn't want to think about his last face-to-face meeting with Hannibal, or what had transpired then.

He didn't want to remember what Hannibal had done to him. There was enough of that in his dreams, the memories coming back to him when he slept.

His unconscious mind unfurled those memories night after night; there had been several nights in a row now when he had awoken in a cold sweat, sure that he could still feel the ropes around his wrists and ankles, Hannibal's hands on his bare flesh, Hannibal forcing himself inside his body.

Will shuddered, running a hand over his face. It still seemed so close, as though it had happened only yesterday, even though it had been weeks ago.

He should be over it by now. He _would_ get over it. But he was changed forever by the experience, and he knew that he would never be the same person that he'd been before.

Rape changed anyone. But to be raped by someone who he had thought was his friend, someone he'd cared for at one time .... that had been an experience that cut deep into his soul. Of course, he hadn't still cared for Hannibal at that point, but he _did_ regret how their friendship had died.

He'd had a kind of love for Hannibal, the love of one friend for another, a trust that had taken time and effort to build up. It hadn't been easy for him to give that trust.

The love that he'd had for Hannibal had been a delicate flame, one that had taken time to spark. And once that love was gone, it was gone forever. It could never come back.

Hannibal had made sure of that by his own actions.

If there had been any lingering regrets over his friendship with Hannibal crumbling into nothingness, there weren't any now. Will knew that he had an enemy, a very dangerous one.

Hannibal had already proven that he was willing to do anything, no matter how depraved, to bring Will down. He had no reverence for any human life -- including Will's.

The flame that had sparked between them had been snuffed out when Will was in prison, when he had realized just what Hannibal had done to him. And Hannibal's actions had only kicked more dirt on that flame, to be sure that it was dead in every way and would never burn again.

It was a friendship that had never really existed, Will thought with a sigh. It had been one-sided, never truly returned. Hannibal had never had real feelings for him.

Of course he hadn't. He was a serial killer, a conscienceless murderer. He wasn't capable of finer feelings; it simply wasn't in his psychological makeup.

The only thing he'd ever felt for Will was curiosity, and a need for someone to use.

He had been an experiment to Hannibal, nothing more, WIll thought bitterly. His friendship had never truly been wanted; he had just been a toy to play with.

He'd been tossed away when Hannibal was done with him, and then his nemesis had come back for one last time for one final cruel act before he had vanished into the ether.

That flame had been doused more effectively than he could have ever dreamed it would be. At one point, there might have been a chance for some forgiveness, even after all that Hannibal had done. But now? Now there was only a block of ice where Will's heart had once resided.

That delicate flame of friendship would never burn again, and there was no reason to try to bring it back to life. Now, the only flame that burned within Will was a slow simmer of anger.

He would have his vengeance. He would see Hannibal behind bars, and he would stand there on the other side of them and gloat. He would have his satisfaction.

Yes, any hint of a spark was indeed gone forever, he thought grimly.

Hannibal had made sure of that. He had snuffed out that delicate flame ruthlessly, maliciously.

And good riddance to it.


	30. No Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will comes home from work to find that something he never expected has taken place -- and he receives another phone call from his nemesis.

Will could sense that something was wrong from the moment he entered his house.

Oh, there had been nothing taken. There were hardly any signs that anyone had been there, and the dogs didn't seem at all upset. Everything seemed normal.

But it wasn't. He could _feel_ that there had been someone in the house. Someone who wasn't there any longer, but who had made themselves at home while he was at work.

The thought made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle; even though he was absolutely positive that there was no one in the house now other than himself and the dogs, he felt violated. The idea that anyone could get into his house and not leave any trace of themselves behind was unthinkable.

Who would do such a thing? he asked himself. Who would violate his privacy in this way, obviously trying to make him feel unsettled and jumpy?

There was only one answer to that question, he told himself grimly. Hannibal had decided to pay him a visit. Which meant that his nemesis was still around.

He hadn't left the country. He was still somewhere near Wolf Trap.

That took some balls, he thought as he moved cautiously up the stairs, towards his bedroom. Anyone else would have gotten the hell out of Dodge by now.

But of course, Hannibal wasn't like anyone else. He had the kind of hubris that would lead him to believe that he would never be caught in Will's home.

The annoying thing was that he _hadn't_ been caught, Will told himself, feeling anger rise like bile in the back of his throat. Hannibal had been here, he was sure of it. He could somehow _feel_ the other man's presence, like a miasma that had been left behind.

He didn't doubt that Hannibal had strolled through his house as though he'd belonged here; he might not have upset the dogs, or taken anything, but he'd made his presence known.

He hated the idea that Hannibal had been here, that he had felt confident and comfortable enough to feel that he had some kind of divine right to be in these premises.

Will was sure that his nemesis wouldn't have left here without taking something, but so far, he hadn't been able to discern whether or not he'd done so. What would Hannibal have chosen to take? Something that he could use at a later date to frame Will for another of his crimes?

No, somehow he doubted that Hannibal would try that again. He'd already done it once, and he'd been spectacularly successful in that frame-up. But it was an old tactic.

This time, Hannibal would try something new, some insidious way of tormenting Will. Breaking into his house was more than likely only the beginning.

He could expect more unsettling events in the future. He was sure of that.

When he entered his bedroom, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what Hannibal had taken. His closet door was open, and he could see an empty hangar lying on his bed.

Hannibal had taken one of his shirts. The plaid shirts that he always wore, the shirts that he had dozens of, all hanging in his closet. One of the shirts that he wore most often.

Why would Hannibal want to take one of his shirts? Will frowned, unable to come up with a reason why. The only thing he could think of was that Hannibal planned to commit a particularly bloody murder, soak Will's shirt in the blood, and leave it there, to place suspicion on him.

But no, that didn't seem to be how Hannibal's mind would work. He had to have something else planned, something that would be even more horrific than the scene Will's own mind had conjured up.

He almost yelped when his cell phone rang; he hadn't been expecting anyone to call. When he checked the number, it wasn't one that he knew; the hairs on the back of his neck prickled again.

"Hello?" he breathed, his voice a mere thread of sound.

"You really need to dust and vacuum, Will," Hannibal said, sounding as though he was scolding. "Your house should be more well-ordered. Your housekeeping skills leave much to be desired."

"I thought you were here," Will said through clenched teeth. "Don't come into my house, Hannibal. You're not welcome here. I'm surprised the dogs didn't attack you."

"The dogs know me," Hannibal returned, apparently unperturbed by the anger that was evident in Will's voice. "They had no problem with me being there. Unlike you, who seem to resent my presence. At one time, I would have been welcomed into your home and into your life, Will."

"That time is long past," Will snarled, unable to keep his fury from showing. "Why did you steal one of my shirts? Are you planning to frame me for another string of murders?"

"Of course not." Hannibal sounded indifferent; Will could almost see him shrug. "That has already been done. I won't try toe same tactic twice. You should know that."

He did. He'd just had to ask, and he still hadn't gotten an answer.

"Why?" he demanded, wishing that Hannibal would give him just one single clue as to where he was, and why he was doing this. "What do you want with one of my possessions?"

"I wanted to have something of yours, Will." Hannibal's voice was very soft; for a moment, just a mere moment, Will could almost hear what sounded like regret in his tone. "I can't be around you, so I thought that it would be pleasant to have some sort of a reminder of you near me."

Will was dumbfounded; of all the answers that Hannibal could have given him, that wasn't one that he'd expected to hear. His former friend almost sounded .... _sad_.

No. He couldn't be. It was just another mind game that he loved to play.

"Well, enjoy my shirt," Will snapped. "Because that's all you're getting. You'll never have another chance to victimize me, Hannibal. That time is in the past, too. And it's never coming back."

"I'm quite aware of that, Will," Hannibal said, the words ending on a sigh. "And I know that it's entirely my fault. I've made far too many mistakes with you."

With that, the phone went dead, and Will was left staring at it in astonishment.

None of that had been what he'd expected to hear. Not at all. What was he supposed to think now? That Hannibal was somehow repenting of all the evil acts he'd committed?

He snorted aloud, shaking his head. No. He wasn't going to believe that. Nothing could make him think that Hannibal was turning over a new leaf.

Because, at the bottom of everything, Hannibal was still a killer. And he always would be.

In the end, he was still out there, and Will still had to catch him.

And he still had no answers, and no clue as to where he should start.


	31. Advance Warning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will doesn't intend to give Hannibal any more of a warning as to his future intentions than Hannibal has given him.

"He broke into my house, Jack. Into my _home_."

Will sighed heavily, resting his head in one hand. He felt like a wrung-out washrag; it felt as though his bones were caving in. It was almost too hard to raise his head to look at Jack.

"You didn't have any kind of advance warning that he might try something like this? He didn't give you any sort of clue at all?" Jack leaned forward, his gaze concentrated on Will.

Will shook his head, sighing again. "None, Jack. You know how he is. He's sneaky and underhanded. I don't have any idea where he is, or what he's doing, or even why he's decided to torment me. I'd have thought that he'd taken his pound of flesh, and that he'd be satisfied with that."

"He took considerably more than a pound," Jack murmured under his breath. Will wondered if he was meant to hear those words, but he didn't comment on them.

"If I'd known that he intended to break into my house, then I'd have gone out of my way to be there -- and be ready for him," Will said, his voice rising. "Don't you think I'd be smart enough to do that?"

Jack nodded, holding up a hand to halt any further words.

"Of course I do, Will," he answered, his voice soft. "And I don't know why he's targeting you, either. Other than the fact that he's got some kind of weird obsession with you."

Will wondered if that obsession had been there all along, and he'd just been too blind to see it. Had Hannibal developed this fixation over time, or had it started when they had first met?

He could remember every moment of that first meeting, etched on his brain with crystal clarity. As much as he thought about it, he couldn't pick out any one thing that he had said or done that might have given Hannibal this mad obsession. But then, there was no way to tell.

Hannibal's mind didn't work like anyone else's. It was a twisted labyrinth of passages that Will knew he could never hope to navigate, and he didn't even want to attempt it.

Whatever had made Hannibal develop such an obsession with him, it was far too late to repair the damage done. He couldn't turn back the clock and undo that fixation.

There had been no advance warning that Hannibal might fixate on him. He would never have thought that _he_ would become such an object of obsession for a man like Hannibal. He'd have expected Hannibal to overlook him, to think that he was nothing, a nobody.

But somehow, that hadn't happened, and Hannibal had gone in the other direction instead. Will wished with all his heart that it hadn't happened, that he had managed to stay unobtrusively in the background.

It was too late to wish that now. Too many things had happened, and he was solidly in Hannibal's sights now. He had been ever since that fateful first meeting.

What was it about him that intrigued the other man so much?

He didn't think it was just his empathy, though that was a big part of it, he was sure. Since Hannibal couldn't feel that kind of empathy himself, he was fascinated by Will's ability.

Will shook his head, closing his eyes. He didn't want to muse on what Hannibal's reasons were for his obsession. It was bad enough that it existed -- and that _he_ was its focus.

If he'd had some kind of advance warning that Hannibal was going to obsess over him, would he have backed away? Would he have found some way to tell Jack that Hannibal gave him the creeps, that he had a strange feeling about him, and tried to make Jack understand that he felt Hannibal was dangerous?

He honestly didn't think that he would have. He'd have been just as intrigued by Hannibal as the other man was by him -- and their dance around insanity would have begun.

It had been inevitable that the two of them meet, and that they end up on opposite sides of the fence. It was their destiny; he couldn't doubt that. Not after the way it had all played out.

This was how their lives had been meant to entwine.

He had always been intended to be Hannibal's bane. Somehow, he _would_ stop his nemesis, no matter what he might have to do, what sacrifices he might have to make.

Just as he'd had no advance warning that Hannibal would develop an obsession about him, he wouldn't give his nemesis any warning when he backed him into a corner, either.

He would make sure that Hannibal had nowhere to turn, nowhere to run. He would hunt his enemy to ground like a hound after a fox; he wouldn't give up until he had achieved his objective. He might have to make sacrifices, but they would be worth it to see Hannibal behind bars permanently.

"I didn't have any advance warning, and neither will he when we come for him," he told Jack, his voice barely above a whisper. "He won't know what's hit him."

Jack nodded, studying Will closely. "Look out, Will. This could become as much an obsession for you as you've become for Hannibal. That could be very dangerous."

Will wanted to shake his head, but he knew that it was true.

But there was one thing that Jack hadn't thought of. He could also be very dangerous for Hannibal. The next time they met, he wouldn't be unprepared for the confrontation.

He would be Hannibal's bane, Will told himself firmly. The next time they met face to face, things would be different. It would be their last showdown -- and it was one that he fully intended to win.


	32. No Longer A Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With only a few words, the game that Hannibal and Will have been playing with each other has turned into a deadly showdown.

Will sighed softly as he raised his head and looked out over the land around his house. It looked so quiet, so peaceful, as though nothing could disturb the tranquility of the scene.

It was such a beautiful, pastoral place to live, and he appreciated the solitude and the silence. But he'd also learned the hard way that such solitude could be dangerous.

There had been no one to help him when Hannibal had attacked him.

He'd had no one to call out for, no hope that anyone could possibly realize that something was wrong and come to his rescue. It had been far too easy for him to be victimized.

It had been so easy for Hannibal to come to his home and do whatever he chose to do. He had made it through Will's defenses as though he was slicing a knife through a piece of cake.

He wasn't going to let that happen again, he told himself firmly. But on the heels of that inner declaration came another thought: How could he avoid it? If Hannibal decided to show up again, he could pick and choose the time that he was here. And Will would be just as isolated, just as vulnerable.

It was terrifying to think that Hannibal could get to him so easily. And even more terrifying to know that he had no first line of defense that would do anything to keep his nemesis away.

The thought of having Hannibal near him again made him shudder. He didn't want that monster to be anywhere around him unless he was safely behind iron bars.

The only way that he'd feel safe again was when Hannibal was in prison.

That _would_ happen, eventually. Hannibal couldn't run forever. There were only so many places that he could hide. He _would_ be tracked down and brought to ground.

Hannibal would be caught. Will just hoped that he was the man who would be able to finally trap the monster, the one who would be able to bring him to justice.

He needed that. Not only for himself, but for all the other victims whose lives Hannibal had cut short, all of the families out there who had lost people they loved at the hands of a brutal, conscienceless killer. He needed to know that he had somehow done some good for those people.

When his cell phone rang, he reached into his pocket absently, assuming that it was Jack calling to tell him about a new case. Clicking the phone on, he spoke into it. "Hello?"

"Hello, Will." The voice on the other end of the phone made his blood freeze in his veins; it was a voice that he hadn't been expected to hear, hadn't wanted to hear.

"Hello, Hannibal." Will sighed softly, determined to keep any kind of quaver out of his voice. "Checking to see if I"m home, where you expect me to be? Trying to make sure that I'm feeling properly apprehensive? Think again, Hannibal. You don't scare me. You've already done your worst."

"Not my worst, Will." The other man's tone was calm, quiet, but Will could still hear the menace in his words. "I've done far from my worst. You are still breathing."

"I have no doubt that you want to kill me." Will managed to keep his own voice even, refusing to let Hannibal make him feel intimidated. "I've known that for a long time now."

"I genuinely regret the necessity of doing so." Again, the tone was calm.

Hannibal actually sounded as though he _meant_ what he was saying. A part of Will believed that he _did_ mean it, and that his nemesis didn't actually want him dead.

No, he couldn't believe that. He _knew_ that Hannibal wanted him gone. He was the thorn in Hannibal's side, the one that would never let him rest.

"You think that you're going to be able to kill me and eat me, and that will free you and make you stop looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life," he said slowly, his voice very soft. "But it won't stop, Hannibal. You'll never be free of me. And you'll never be able to stop running."

Those words were followed by a lengthy silence; Will could almost hear Hannibal's anger over the phone line. He hadn't expected to hear Will stand up to him.

"Perhaps I was wrong, Will." Hannibal's voice had lost the polite veneer now; the words sounded menacing. "I should have done away with you when I had you in my grasp."

Will almost wanted to laugh at those words, but he didn't dare.

"You didn't have the strength to do away with me," he whispered, enunciating each word clearly. "I'm your weakness, Hannibal. And I always will be."

There. Those words would anger Hannibal more than any others, and he knew it. Hannibal didn't want to admit that he had any kind of weaknesses, least of all Will.

"You will die by my hand, Will Graham," Hannibal snarled. "I will make sure that you feel each moment of your death, and that you look into my eyes as the life is fading out of your own. I will make sure that you know who killed you, and that I am the victor in our little game."

So Hannibal had thrown down the gauntlet. Well, two could play at that game. When he spoke, Will's voice was just as acidic, just as threatening as Hannibal's had been.

"Just try it," he said, his voice almost a growl. "And when you do try to eat me, I hope you choke on my bones. Because you won't be able to force them down."

With that, he clicked off the phone, cutting off their contact.

Will waited for several long moments, holding his breath, wondering if Hannibal would call him back. But after a while, it became obvious that he wasn't going to.

The ball had certainly been set in motion now, he told himself grimly, taking out his phone to call Jack and let him know that there had been more contact.

This was no longer a game. It was a showdown, in deadly earnest.

And he was sure that only one of them would come out of it alive.


	33. Fixed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regardless of what Hannibal may have thought, Will knows that there's nothing wrong with him and he doesn't need to be fixed.

How long would he have to wait before Hannibal contacted him again?

Will shuddered at the thought of seeing his nemesis face to face again. It was the last thing he wanted; he wished that he never had to deal with Hannibal for the rest of his life.

Yet a part of him _wanted_ another confrontation between them, a chance to prove that he _could_ take Hannibal on and come out on top.

But could he? He had to ask himself that question; past experience had proven that Hannibal was crafty, wily, and that he wasn't above using underhanded methods to get what he wanted. He wouldn't play fair, and he certainly wouldn't abide by any rules that Will knew of.

No, Hannibal was capable of anything. Will already knew that; he had been a firsthand recipient of that knowledge. Hannibal wasn't to be trusted, not for any reason.

If they did have a final confrontation, there was no way of telling which one of them would walk out of it alive. Will just didn't want to be the one who lost that final game.

He knew very well that he was fighting for his life.

Hannibal wouldn't let him have that life, not if he could possibly take it. And Hannibal was toying with him, enjoying the chase, the cat-and-mouse game he was playing.

That monster thought that he could take Will's life with one swipe of a paw, but he had another think coming if he really thought that his intended victim would go down without a fight.

Will clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, summoning up all the courage he could muster. Hannibal wasn't going to win this fight easily, he vowed to himself. He wasn't going to simply lay down and die; he was going to fight, and he was going to best that beast and send it to hell, if he could.

He'd had enough of Hannibal influencing his life, muddling his senses and trying to dictate right and wrong to him. He _knew_ the difference between right and wrong.

He had allowed a false friendship to cloud his judgment, but the scales had been ripped away from his eyes long since. He was no longer blinded by Hannibal's persuasiveness.

How had he let himself be fooled by Hannibal's protestations of friendship? He had wanted a friend, needed someone who he felt understood him. But Hannibal had never truly understood who he was, or even tried to. He had only tried to remake Will in his own image.

Hannibal thought that he was some kind of god, Will told himself. But he was only a man, with all the fallibilities of a man -- albeit a wily and cunning one.

This time, he wasn't going to let Hannibal win. He might not come out on top in their final confrontation, but he would put up one hell of a fight.

And he was determined not to lose.

He'd let Hannibal dominated him for far too long. He had fallen under a kind of spell, but he was no longer under any kind of delusion that Hannibal was his friend.

That illusion had been torn to shreds long ago, during the time that he'd spent in prison. He'd come to know the truth, and he had sworn that he would have his revenge.

And he would, he told himself, clenching his fists and feeling his nails dig into his palms. Maybe not revenge, but at least he would get some closure. He _would_ put Hannibal Lecter behind bars, no matter what it took. And he would take satisfaction in knowing that he had done so.

That would be what would destroy Hannibal, more so than anything else. The loss of his freedom. The loss of all that he held dear -- not just his freedom, but his reputation in the world.

Appearances mattered to Hannibal. It would kill him to know that he had become nothing more than a scandalous headline, something for people to whisper behind their hands about.

He would hate that. And Will would know that _he_ had orchestrated it.

Hannibal had thought that he could somehow "fix" him, that he would easily become what Hannibal envisioned for him. But he'd proven the other man wrong.

He had shown Hannibal that he was stronger than he appeared, and he would do it again. Hannibal might have won the last round, but he wouldn't win another one.

"You can't fix me," Will said aloud. "Because there's nothing to be fixed. I'm fine just the way I am. I don't need to be changed into anything, especially into something like you." He shuddered at the thought of becoming like Hannibal; he would rather die than take up the mantle of that monster.

He wasn't a killer. Yes, he had killed -- but he had a conscience. He had killed to protect himself, and in turn, to protect others. He had never killed just for the sake of killing.

His attempt to convince Hannibal that he _could_ be a killer had worked for a while, but he should have known that he wasn't a good enough actor for it to stay convincing.

Yet he still had his life. He'd made it through that harrowing time. That was something.

He didn't need to be fixed -- not in the way that Hannibal thought that he could "fix" him. He was his own person, and he would show that bastard that he couldn't be easily manipulated.

Maybe Hannibal had been able to do that before, but those days were over. Will no longer had the wool pulled over his eyes. He was seeing clearly now.

He wasn't the credulous person that he'd been before he had met Hannibal. He'd thought that he was so cynical, so closed off from the world, but he had needed a friend, someone who he felt that he could trust. And he had picked the wrong person to give his trust to.

But now, he knew better. He knew who and what he was dealing with -- and he knew that he could defeat the evil that was Hannibal, if he worked hard enough at it.

He had spent too much time being Hannibal's victim. Well, he would be a victim no more. He was going to stand up to that bastard, and he was going to send him to jail.

Or straight to hell. Whichever one of those he could manage.

Personally, he'd rather send Hannibal to hell than to jail. Then at least he would know that the bastard couldn't harm anyone else, even from behind bars.

Will took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders. Whatever happened, he would be prepared for it. The next time he and Hannibal met, the playing field would be even.

He expected their next meeting to go very differently from the last.

If it didn't, then he probably wouldn't emerge from that meeting alive.


	34. Battle Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only one of them is going to come out of their final confrontation alive.

Will sat on his front porch, looking out into the trees that clustered thickly in front of his house.

How often had he sat here and felt safe, knowing that he was isolated from most of the world? How often had he felt that he'd found the perfect place to be?

Nowhere was a perfect place to stay safe. Hannibal was capable of penetrating all of his defenses, and there was no place he could run to.

Will smiled wryly at the word he'd chosen to use in his mind. He didn't want to think of the unwanted physical intimacy that had taken place between the two of them; Hannibal might look at it as love, but it had been rape. He hadn't wanted it in any way; he had been forced.

But of course, Hannibal would gloss over that fact in his mind, Will thought sourly. In his twisted psyche, they had a relationship. He probably considered them lovers.

Not that Will didn't like men, of course. Hannibal knew that he leaned in that direction. But he had never wanted to be intimate with Hannibal; it had always seemed so _wrong_.

He'd always known that something wasn't right about the other man.

Now he knew for certain that Hannibal was the wrong person for him. He was the wrong person for _anyone_ , Will thought with another wry smile. No one was safe with him.

Hannibal wasn't capable of caring for anyone. He knew that. The man was a serial killer; their minds didn't work like a normal person's did. They didn't know how to love; the only thing that they were capable of caring about was being able to satisfy their own selfish desires.

Hannibal was like that. He wasn't able to love; what he thought he felt for Will was really only an admiration of whatever he saw in Will that gave back his own reflection.

That wasn't love. It was a sick and twisted obsession.

Will shuddered at the memories, firmly pushing them away from him. Jack thought that he needed to see a psychiatrist about them, and maybe he was right.

But the last thing he wanted to do was see another psychiatrist, Will thought with a bitter laugh. Look at what had happened when he'd agreed to sessions with Hannibal.

Of course, another psychiatrist wouldn't be a serial-killing cannibal. There surely couldn't be _two_ of them, not in the same city. And even if there was another person somewhere who was like Hannibal, Will didn't think the chances of them being part of his life were too good.

He hoped not, anyway. One Hannibal Lecter is anyone's life was more than enough. It was more than he wanted. He wished that the two of them had never met.

The last thing he wanted in his life was any kind of residual memory of Hannibal. He wanted to exorcise that monster from his mind, rid himself of everything that reminded him of that time.

He wouldn't be able to do that until Hannibal was behind bars, until he knew that the monster was caged and that he would never be able to hurt him, or anyone else, again. Until that time, he was a target, and he knew it. He could do nothing but sit back and wait for Hannibal to strike.

Though he knew that some kind of communication would come first. That was Hannibal's way, at least with him. He wouldn't simply appear out of nowhere.

Well, he _would_ , but for some reason, he seemed to want to give Will some warning of what was going to take place. Probably just trying to heighten his fear, his anticipation.

Well, if that was his intention, it was working pretty damn well.

When his cell phone rang, he pulled it out of his pocket, not bothering to check the number of the caller. He assumed it was Jack, calling to check on him.

"Hello?" His voice was strong and firm, and even a little absent. He cleared his throat, waiting for the person on the other end to speak. If it was Jack, he was probably being interrupted by someone in his office who had to tell him something; that happened more often than not these days.

"Hello, Will." The strongly accented voice he heard made his heart stutter and skip a few beats; he didn't speak again. He couldn't. His breath was caught in his throat.

Besides that, he didn't know what he should say.

He hadn't expected Hannibal to call him again. He had thought that the other man would give him some time, rather than get in touch with him so soon after that last call.

But of course he should have realized that Hannibal wanted to catch him off-guard, to throw him off his game and make him feel as though he was floundering.

"We will meet again very soon, Will," Hannibal said, his voice even and pleasant, as though they were having a simple, casual conversation that wasn't fraught with tension. "I have done everything I could to give you a fighting chance. The rest is up to you."

"The rest?" His mind was struggling to process what Hannibal was trying to say. He didn't understand what the other man meant; he didn't know where this one-sided conversation was going.

"You will find out shortly," Hannibal told him, his voice colder and more clipped now. "When we meet again, you need to be prepared for battle, Will. Because this _is_ a war."

"I know that," Will told him, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

He wasn't doing a very good job of that. He could hear the fear underlying his words; it seemed obvious to him. And if _he_ felt that way, he was sure that Hannibal could sense it, too.

"There can only be one winning side in a war," Hannibal said, his voice sinking to a near-whisper. "I am very sorry that it's had to come to this between us, Will. I didn't want it to. I wanted you to be by my side. But it seems that this is an impossibility, and you have only yourself to blame for whatever happens."

Will was silent, those words sinking into his brain. He knew that they were meant to intimidate him, but for some reason, they didn't. Not at all.

They only made him want to do away with Hannibal, once and for all.

If he did, then the world would be a better and safer place -- not only for him, but for anyone else who could be one of Hannibal's chosen victims in the future.

He had already killed so many people, and ruined the lives of countless others by taking away their loved ones. He couldn't be allowed to get away with it any longer.

"No, two sides can't both win a war," he said, keeping his voice steady. The tendency of his tone to shake was gone; he was speaking in a strong, firm voice now, completely comfortable with his beliefs and with what he was saying. "But you should remember this, Hannibal. Good will always win over evil."

"Are you so sure of that, Will?" Hannibal countered, his own voice growing louder. "I wouldn't be. I've been the victor too many times over in the past for you to say that."

"Those days are over," Will said, his conviction that was he said was right loud and clear in his voice. "You're going down, Hannibal. And I'll be the one to close the cell door on you."

He would do just that. And he'd throw away the key.

"Then the battle lines have been drawn," Hannibal said, sounding glacial. "The next time we meet, it will be as bitter enemies. Remember, this is how you wanted it."

With that, he hung up, leaving Will holding his phone and at a loss for words. Slowly, he turned the phone off and returned it to his pocket, his gaze scanning the woods again for a very different reason. Could Hannibal be out there somewhere, closer than he thought, watching him?

No, he didn't think so. He doubted that his enemy would be here in broad daylight -- though he _could_ very well be arrogant enough to think that he wouldn't get caught.

Still, it was a lot safer to err on the side of caution.

Getting up, Will whistled for the dogs, counting as all seven of them came running up onto the porch. He opened the door to let them in, thankful that they were all here and unharmed.

He would have to watch out for them -- and himself -- very carefully until Hannibal was caught. As the other man had pointed out, the battle lines had now been drawn.

He wondered when Hannibal would strike, and where.

This was a battle that only one of them would emerge from alive. And he didn't intend to be the loser.


	35. No Running Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time, he won't try to run away. This time, he'll stand and fight -- to the bitter end.

Running away hadn't done him any good.

But had he really tried to run away? Will asked himself, frowning. He didn't think so. When it had most mattered, he had stood his ground and tried to fight Hannibal.

He hadn't been very good at that for a long time, Will though, a grim smile curving his lips. He'd had the wool pulled over his eyes for far too long.

But those scales had at long last been stripped away, and he had seen Hannibal clearly for quite a while now. He'd never let himself be fooled again; he knew exactly what Hannibal was, and just what kind of a deadly enemy he'd made by refusing to play Hannibal's games.

He'd had no choice in that, not really. Not only was Hannibal a criminal, a murderer who belonged behind bars, but Will knew that if he'd gone along with those games, they would have led to his own death.

He wasn't about to stand back and let Hannibal deliver the killing blow. He had more of a sense of self-preservation than that. He wasn't a lamb to the slaughter.

Hannibal wouldn't catch him unawares again.

What good would trying to run away do him, anyway? Will was all too aware of the fact that Hannibal could find him, wherever he tried to hide.

Hiding wasn't going to keep him safe. No, the only way that he could be assured of his safety was to confront his enemy, to have that final showdown between them.

Of course, he wasn't at all sure that he would emerge from that confrontation with his life. Hannibal had said that they would be bitter enemies the next time they met; Will knew that when they did see each other face-to-face again, one of them wouldn't emerge from the encounter alive.

He was ready for that. He was prepared.

He didn't want to give up his life. But even if he had to give up his own, if he could take Hannibal down into death with him, it would be worth the sacrifice.

He _needed_ to protect the world from Hannibal's evil. It had been allowed to run rampant for far too long. Will didn't want any more innocent people to die.

If Hannibal wasn't stopped, the world would be bathed in blood.

Hannibal viewed the world as his playground, and human beings as pawns. He had never showed the slightest bit of respect for human life; anything that he'd done or said that indicated that sort of respect had been an act. He had been wearing his human mask at the time.

Will knew that Hannibal had no compassion in him. He could put on a good act, but he was a serial killer. He wasn't capable of caring, of tenderness .... of love.

The only person that Hannibal could love was himself, regardless of any protests he might have to the contrary. Will had been fooled by his act before.

He'd never be fooled again. Not now that he saw clearly.

Running away would only mark him as a coward -- both in Hannibal's eyes, and in his own. He wouldn't run. He would stand his ground, and face whatever was coming.

But he wouldn't be so foolish as to go into this confrontation without arming himself. After all, forewarned _was_ forearmed, Will told himself, another grim smile on his lips. 

Hannibal had found it easy to fool him in the past, but he was older and wiser now. He knew what Hannibal was -- and in some ways, he knew _who_ the other man was better than he ever had. And he knew now that Hannibal would stop at nothing to vanquish him.

That wasn't going to happen. He might have to make the ultimate sacrifice, but if he did, then he was damn sure going to take Hannibal with him.

This time, there would be no running away. There would be no turning aside from whatever his fate might be, and no trying to avoid it. He would go in with his eyes wide open.

And if things turned out badly, then he and Hannibal would meet again in hell.


	36. Not Haunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does Hannibal haunt his memories? Will can't quite make up his mind whether that's true or not.

Will yawned, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

He should feel more refreshed, but lately, that had been impossible.

He hadn't been able to sleep much last night; he'd kept waking up, thinking that he heard something downstairs. He'd even crept down the steps to check twice.

But there had been nothing there; he had only been letting his imagination run away with him. He'd trudged back up to his bedroom both times, vowing to go back to sleep.

When he'd finally slept, dawn had just been starting to break across the sky. Fortunately, it was the weekend, so he'd been able to sleep in; he hadn't had to force himself to get up, take a shower, and drink two cups of coffee before leaving the house to get to the Academy in time for his first class.

Life would almost feel that it was back to normal if it wasn't for the fact that Hannibal was still in his mind -- and that he had made those threatening phone calls.

Maybe he shouldn't view them as threats. After all, he had always known that he and Hannibal would have a final showdown at some point.

Those words hadn't been threats. They'd been an inevitability.

There was no way that the two of them could not square off one last time. They had unfinished business, and neither of them would rest until it was taken care of.

He couldn't get those words out of his head, though; they _had_ been a threat, and he knew it. There was no way that he could pretend otherwise.

He had to be vigilant; he didn't doubt that Hannibal was going to show up at some unexpected time. Will was almost sure that he was being covertly watched even now, though he had no proof of that. Hannibal was a wily bastard; he wouldn't let himself be caught easily.

What did he plan to do? Will wondered. Whatever it was, he knew in his gut that it would be up close and personal; they had too much history between them for it not to be.

He just hoped that he would be ready when he was confronted.

It was a terrifying thought, knowing that he could come face-to-face with his nemesis and not be prepared for that meeting. He couldn't let his guard down for even one moment.

At least he had the dogs to protect him, he thought with a smile as he bent down to pet Winston's head. They would give their lives to keep him safe; they were one line of defense.

Though he didn't want to sacrifice his pets. He cared about them too much.

Will sighed, going outside and sitting down in the rocking chair on the porch. No, he wouldn't sacrifice his beloved pets, unless it came down to his life or one of theirs.

Hell, he'd gone running outside when Hannibal had sent Randall Tier after him, simply because Buster had sensed that someone was out there who was a threat and had taken off out of the open front door. If he hadn't been crazy enough to do that, then the little terrier would be dead.

But Buster was here, alive and well, he thought, smiling as he watched the small dog bound around the front yard with the other dogs, yapping happily.

At that moment, his phone rang. Will flinched, sure that it was Jack Crawford calling him, saying that they had a fresh crime scene and they needed his insight.

But it was a number that he didn't recognize.

Will sighed, closing his eyes for a moment, a shiver of dread moving through his body. He was fairly sure who was on the other end of this call; after all, it had happened before.

He had no choice but to answer; to leave it unanswered would be cowardly. And whatever he might be, a coward was one thing he wasn't. He had to pick up that gauntlet.

Will sighed as he clicked the phone on, raising it to his ear. "Hello, Hannibal," he said, keeping his voice as calm and neutral as he could, even though his nerves were jangling. There could be nothing good about Hannibal calling him. It probably meant that he was too close for comfort.

"You haunt me, Will," Hannibal's voice whispered, without even prefacing the words with a greeting. "Do I haunt you? I'm sure that I do. You feel this attraction as intensely as I do."

Will swallowed hard, not speaking. He wasn't attracted to Hannibal, not in the way that the other man meant. At least, he didn't _think_ so. He hadn't really thought about it.

Hannibal thought that he was in love with Will. It was frightening.

But what the other man felt wasn't love, Will reminded himself. It was obsession, nothing more. Hannibal had zeroed in on him and developed a fixation.

That wasn't love. No one who loved him would have repeatedly tried to kill him. No one who actually cared for him would have framed him for murders he didn't commit.

In Hannibal's sick, twisted world, that might be construed as love, but it wasn't any kind of love that Will wanted. What he wanted to do was turn and run from this man, to put as much distance between them as possible, and to erase all memory of Hannibal from his life.

That wasn't possible, and he knew it. If Hannibal was still out there in the world somewhere, then he'd come after Will. There would be no stopping him.

So what he had to do was stop Hannibal, manage to get him put behind bars, where he belonged. That wasn't going to be easy to do. He knew that already.

Still, he had to try. He had to face his enemy down once and for all.

"You don't haunt me, Hannibal," he finally said, knowing that his words weren't true, but not willing to admit that out loud. "The only thing I feel when I think of you is disgust."

Hannibal was silent for what seemed like a long time; when he finally spoke again, his voice sounded sad. "I should have expected that. And I suppose that I deserve it."

"You do," Will said, his tone short and clipped. "You've never done anything that would make me care about you in any way, Hannibal. The only thing I care about is excising you from my life in every way, and putting you behind bars where you can't hurt any more innocent people."

The silence seemed to stretch out for a very long time; for a few moments, Will wondered if Hannibal had hung up the phone, but then the other man spoke again.

"You'll have that chance, Will," Hannibal said, his tone measured and even. "I hope that you will be prepared for our final confrontation. I myself am greatly looking forward to it."

Will heard a click, and the line went dead.

Slowly, he clicked the phone off and returned it to his pocket. What had those last words meant? Were they a threat? Was Hannibal planning to kill him?

Of course he was, Will told himself. Hannibal had tried to kill him several times before; true, he'd left him alive that last time, but only to taunt him. Hannibal had wanted him to become as obsessed as the other man was; he had wanted Will to be haunted by him.

Well, he wasn't haunted, Will told himself firmly. He wasn't obsessed, either. Yes, he wanted to put Hannibal away, but it wasn't the ruling passion of his life.

He wouldn't let Hannibal have that much control over him.

Will got to his feet slowly, whistling for the dogs. He didn't want them wandering around outside for too long, not when Hannibal might be somewhere close.

He realized that his hand was trembling when he reached out to open the door so that the dogs could go into the house. He hadn't expected that. 

He wasn't afraid. He wouldn't let himself be afraid.

And Hannibal did _not_ haunt him. 

He didn't want to admit that those words might very well be a lie.


	37. Oppressive Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the silence around him grows eerie and oppressive, Will can't help but wish for the final confrontation with Hannibal, even as he dreads it.

It was too quiet. The silence was .... eerie.

Will thought of it as the calm before the storm; he was just waiting for Hannibal to descend on him in all of that ravening fury, teeth and claws out.

The thought made him shudder; he didn't want to confront his enemy again. He didn't want to see Hannibal again, to look into those eyes and see the dead calm there, the emotionless, conscienceless eyes of a murderer who had no qualms about killing innocent people.

He had looked into those eyes before and thought that he'd seen a friend. How wrong he had been. How foolish he must have seemed to Hannibal.

And yet, Hannibal still seemed to feel that they had some kind of connection.

That was one thing he _definitely_ didn't want, Will thought, shuddering again, this time with distaste. The last thing he wanted was a connection with that monster.

Yet in some ways, he _was_ connected to Hannibal. He probably knew the man better than anyone else did, though he hated to admit that fact. He hated knowing that he'd been in such close contact with someone like Hannibal, and that he'd considered that monster a friend.

He had been so foolish; it had been easy for Hannibal to pull the wool over his eyes, and even to frame him for all of those murders. Far too easy.

His life had been completely ripped apart -- but he was slowly bringing himself back from the darkness that had swirled around him, step by careful step.

He was climbing out of the dark pit of despair that Hannibal had tried to consign him to -- and he wasn't going to let himself be pushed back into it. Hannibal wasn't going to defeat him. He'd tried so many times, and he'd never succeeded. Will wouldn't _let_ him succeed.

Will clenched his fists at his sides, staring out into the woods around his house without really seeing anything. It was silent, almost deathly quiet.

That silence heralded some kind of explosion.

Will knew that he would be caught in the midst of that explosion, and that he had to be prepared for it. Though at the moment, everything seemed normal.

Normal? He almost wanted to laugh at the thought. Since when had _anything_ in his life been normal once he had let Hannibal into his life? Normal was the last word he would use to describe how things had been going for him; it was a word that applied to others, but never to himself.

The silence seemed to close around him, enveloping him like a shroud. Yet another thing in his life that wasn't normal, Will reflected with a soft sigh.

The silence was oppressive, and he was ready for it to end. 

He didn't doubt that the silence would soon come to an end -- though not in a way that he wanted.

Not in a way that would bring him any measure of peace.


	38. Something Stolen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will contemplates the things that Hannibal has taken from him that he'll never recover.

Hannibal had stolen something from him that he could never get back.

That monster had stolen his self-confidence -- at least for a while. He had made Will feel that he was a victim, that he was unable to protect himself.

And not only that, but he had stolen a part of Will's belief in himself, and in others. That was what he could never get back, and he mourned the loss.

He would never be able to completely trust anyone again. Hannibal had killed that part of him that believed in the innate goodness of people, that part of his soul that trusted in the light. A part of that light had gone out, and Will knew that it could never shine again.

That was a loss that he couldn't cope with. That light had been a large part of what kept him going through all of the horrors he was forced to witness in his job.

Knowing that the people who had committed the vile crimes he saw every day would be caught and brought to justice had kept him doing his job, day in and day out.

Now, he wasn't sure that he could continue.

Whenever he looked at crime scenes now, he didn't see an opportunity to catch a killer. All he saw was carnage and destruction, never any kind of hope.

Hannibal had stolen a part of him that he'd never thought he would lose -- his optimism. That had always been a big part of what had carried him through his work.

Now that optimism was gone, and Will doubted that he would ever get it back. He hated knowing that such a large part of who he had been had disappeared forever, and that it would never return. He mourned the loss of that optimism with a heavy heart.

But that wasn't the only thing that Hannibal had taken from him, he thought, clenching his fists. Hannibal had also taken something that he should have chosen to give.

Before Hannibal, he had never been with a man before.

Oh, he'd known for years that he was gay. He'd known that he preferred men to women -- and really, that he was only with women because it was _expected_ of him.

But it wasn't what he _wanted_. He had never really been sexually attracted to any woman. He was attracted to some womens' minds, not to their bodies.

Hannibal had taken the choice of who to give himself to away from him.

He didn't want to say the word "rape" in connection with himself. That made him sound too much like a victim. But in essence, that was exactly what he'd been.

Yes, he had been raped. It still pained him to think of it; he had moved his bed to the other side of the room, and had even gotten a new bed because he couldn't bear to sleep in the same bed that he'd violated in. He didn't want to remember that awful night.

Though that night would stay in his memory for the rest of his life, and he knew it. He would never be able to completely push it away and bury it.

Will hoped that what had taken place wouldn't color any relationship he might have in the future. He didn't want to become a bitter, lonely, regretful old man.

That was the greatest thing that Hannibal had stolen from him.

Those memories would never go away. They would always be there, in the back of his mind, waiting to jump out at him, or in his dreams.

Would he ever be able to give himself to anyone wholeheartedly after what Hannibal had done to him? He didn't know, and at the moment, he didn't want to find out.

The last thing he needed was to find out that he could no longer bear for anyone to touch him, or to even think of being physical with another man. That was one more complication in a life that was already filled with them, just one more worry that he didn't need to deal with.

On top of everything, he knew that Hannibal was coming back for him. He couldn't doubt that for one moment, either. They would have a final confrontation.

It didn't frighten him as it might have at one time, but he _was_ apprehensive. He wasn't at all sure that he would come out of this on the winning side.

But if he didn't survive that final battle, would it really matter?

Of course it would, Will told himself firmly. He still had a lot to live for. Hannibal might have stolen something from him, but the bastard hadn't destroyed him.

He wouldn't let what Hannibal had done to him take away his will to survive. That was the worst he could do, and Will refused to let himself be beaten down that far. If he lost that survival instinct, if he just gave up, then he really didn't have any reason to keep living, did he?

He wasn't going to answer that question. He was just going to move forward as best he could, prepare for his next meeting with Hannibal, and hope that he was the victor.

He wouldn't dwell on what had been taken from him. He couldn't.

Yes, something had been stolen from him that he could never recover. But he _would_ move on with his life, and he would be happy and fulfilled.

Will sighed, getting to his feet and heading toward the kitchen to make himself dinner. It was easy to say those words. But it was going to be much harder to follow through on them.


	39. By His Very Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will ruminates on his strange relationship with Hannibal while he waits for their ultimate confrontation to take place.

Will stared down at the book in his lap, not seeing the printed words.

He couldn't concentrate on what he was reading; the words on the printed page just looked like so many squiggles that danced before his eyes.

All he could do was keep glancing at his cell phone lying on the coffee table in front of him. He knew that it would ring; Hannibal was sure to call him again.

He didn't doubt that he would be hearing from his nemesis. Hannibal didn't make empty threats; he'd said that he was coming for Will, and he could be counted on to keep that promise. Will wanted to be sure that he was alert and ready for that confrontation.

It would be the final time they met; he was sure of that, if nothing else. Only one of them would emerge from that battle of wills with his life intact.

Will's lips firmed into a thin line; a frown creased his brow. He didn't intend to be the one who was dispatched to the next realm after his next meeting with Hannibal.

He was going to send that bastard to hell, where he belonged.

He'd made far too many mistakes in his strange relationship with Hannibal. He had been a fool, but now, he was older, wiser, and more experienced.

He wasn't the man he'd been when he had first met Hannibal. He had become harder, more cautious, more wary. He had changed in so many ways, some for the better, some not. And unfortunately, Hannibal had been the main architect of a lot of those changes.

Because of Hannibal, he trusted people even less than he had before. He doubted that he would ever be able to fully trust anyone again.

By nature, he wasn't a trusting person to start with.

His association with Hannibal had only made him more skittish and more wary of getting close to anyone, even though rationally he knew that everyone wasn't so evil.

Still, just the thought of letting anyone get into his head, of sharing his private thoughts with another person, made him shudder. He'd seen what that could do. Hannibal had damaged him in ways that didn't show on the outside -- though he'd left physical scars, as well.

All he wanted to do at this point was to banish Hannibal from life completely -- but he knew that wasn't going to be possible as long as his enemy still walked this world.

He would have to put Hannibal down like the monster that he was, Will thought, a grim feeling of determination coming over him. He had no other choice.

If he didn't take that monster out, there would be more innocent victims.

As long as Hannibal was in this world, people would die at his hands, and he would continue blithely on his path of destruction. He cared nothing about the lives he destroyed, either those of the people he murdered, or their loved ones who were left devastated by their deaths.

The world would be a better place without Hannibal in it. Will knew that. He'd known it for a long time. And now, it was past time to do something about it.

Hannibal was evil by nature. And though he had tried to convert Will to that darkness, he hadn't achieved his goal. And he never would.

Will knew that he himself had a dark side to his nature; everyone did. But he also knew that within himself, there was a core of light and strength. He was the yin to Hannibal's yang, the light to the darkness, the good to the evil. And he wouldn't forsake the light for the darkness.

He had to be strong, and fight that darkness back.

Something told him that he was the only person standing between Hannibal and many, many more potential victims. He couldn't let more people die.

By their very natures, he and Hannibal were sworn enemies. How could he have ever believed that someone like Hannibal could possibly be his friend, or understand him?

Will almost wanted to pity himself for how blind he had been when he and Hannibal had first met. But he wasn't the only person who had been fooled by Hannibal's act -- he had managed to pull the proverbial wool over the eyes of a lot of people over the years.

But now, that human mask he wore had been stripped away to reveal the monster beneath, and Will knew that he would never be blinded to Hannibal's real nature again.

He'd been fooled once, but once had been more than enough.

It was strange that it had been so easy for Hannibal to hoodwink him. He wasn't by nature a trusting person; he shouldn't have been so quickly fooled.

But then, Hannibal had gotten plenty of practice in the years -- possibly even decades -- that he'd been killing, and presenting himself as an upstanding citizen, Will thought bitterly. Who knew how many hundreds of people he had dispatched, for his own evil, selfish ends?

Well, that was going to end. He was going to put a stop to Hannibal's evil once and for all. He wouldn't even let himself think that he could be defeated.

He was going to be the ultimate victor in this final confrontation.

The last time they'd seen each other, Hannibal had been able to get the upper hand. He'd had surprise on his side -- and Will hadn't been expecting him to be so .... _physical_.

That night still existed in his worst nightmares, but he tried to push it aside during his waking hours. He didn't want to think about it, didn't want to acknowledge it.

Hannibal had already done the worst that he could do, Will told himself, clenching his fists. After that kind of a violation, nothing more could be done that would be any more shattering for him. He'd come through fire, and he had survived. That was the only thing that mattered.

He wouldn't be so foolhardy again as to not be prepared for whatever might come, especially now that he knew the true nature of his enemy.

Hannibal would do anything to beat him down, to make him acquiesce. And no matter what horrors that monster unleashed on him, he would never do so.

They were enemies until the bitter end, and always would be.

Could things have been any different? Will didn't think so. Give Hannibal's nature, it would have always come to this, to a standoff, with the two of them on opposite sides.

By his very nature, Hannibal was diametrically opposed to everything that Will believed in, everything he was and had ever been. He was the light, and Hannibal was the darkness. He couldn't let himself forget that. He couldn't give in to that dark side of himself.

That darkness might be seductive, but even though there was a part of him that wanted to give in to it, there was a larger part of him that recoiled in revulsion.

That was the side of himself that he would listen to.

Will took a deep breath, finally closing the book in his lap and putting it aside. There was no sense in trying to read, not when he had so much on his mind.

All he could do, really, was sit here and wait until he grew too tired to stay awake, and then hope that he could sleep without tossing and turning all night long.

And without having any more disturbing -- or frightening -- nightmares.

Will smiled grimly. He wasn't going to hold his breath on that last thought.


	40. Fairy Tales Don't Come True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal knows that any chance of a fairy-tale happy ending for himself and Will passed by long ago, and that their last meeting will more than likely be a fight to the death.

He had promised Will that he would come back.

And he would do so, Hannibal told himself firmly. Will was unfinished business that he needed to take care of, and he couldn't put it off any longer. 

He hadn't yet decided what Will's fate would be. Something within him couldn't bring himself to put an end to Will, though that would be the safest way to go.

Hannibal crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in his chair. Did he love Will? He wasn't certain what the answer to that all-important question was. He certainly had a fascination with the young man, but he didn't know if it could be called by that particular four-letter word.

Any capacity that he'd had in his heart for real love had ended with the death of his sister. He had known that all of his life. He wasn't capable of that sort of deep emotion now.

But Will had stirred something within him that he'd thought was long forgotten. Perhaps not love, but a feeling that was akin to it, at any rate.

What was it about Will that made him so alluring -- so irresistible?

Hannibal couldn't answer that question, and he wondered idly if he would ever be able to. Of course, there was no real way to explain attraction.

He knew that he would keep going back to Will, again and again, until he had exorcised himself of the strange fascination that the other man held for him. It wasn't rational, and he couldn't explain why he felt this way. He just knew that he did, and for now, that was enough.

Ordinarily, he probably would have been annoyed that anyone could hold that kind of fascination for him. It was certainly odd, and unlike him, to feel this way.

But then, Will was different from anyone he had ever known before. There were such depths to him, depths that he didn't even realize he possessed.

Or maybe he _did_ realize it, and ran from that darkness.

Hannibal sighed softly, shaking his head. Will had no need to run from that darkness; being the person he was, it would never consume him. Yes, there was a dark side to his nature, as there was to everyone's. But Will was one of those people who would never give in to it.

He would never let himself be controlled by darkness, and Hannibal thought that was a pity. Will, more than anyone he had ever known, was an avatar of the light.

There was no way that he would be able to bend Will to his desires. He had tried, and he had failed. There was no use to keep on trying. He wouldn't succeed.

He really shouldn't have been so persistent; he should have known from the first that Will wasn't going to bend. The stubborn young man would rather break than bend; in a way, Hannibal admired him for that. Will would always stick his principles, and not many people would.

But he had to admit that he _did_ find that quality problematic.

He'd long since come to the realization that Will wouldn't be what he desired. That dream was dead; it had never been feasible, and he should have already accepted that fact.

He had made a terrible mistake when he'd let his carnal desires get away from him, and had taken Will. That had solidified him as an enemy in Will's mind.

They could never go back to the casual friendship that they had once shared. But had that ever really been a true friendship? Hannibal asked himself, a frown marring his brow. Will had always been a bit cautious of him, even at the best ot times, despite all of Hannibal's reassurances.

He should have realized that the two of them were never meant to be, either as a couple of even as friends. They were too opposite, too diametrically opposed.

They were born to face off against each other.

It remained to be seen which one of them would win that final battle, Hannibal mused. They were both strong people, and they were obviously well matched.

In a way, it pained him to be pitted against Will. If only they could have worked together, Will giving in to that darkness that so obviously resided within him!

But he had long since give up any hope that it would happen. There was an intrinsic goodness in Will, one that would always push back that darkness and defeat it. It was admirable, in some ways, but it also hindered and then blocked what Hannibal had tried to achieve with the young man.

Still, that was past history now. The two of them were opposed at this point, and always would be. And at some point, they would have a final confrontation.

It would be a fight to the death, and once again, Hannibal felt a stirring of regret over that fact. If only things could have been different between them.

Ah, well. That could never be, and wishing otherwise was useless.

There was no telling what could have happened, what a different outcome might have been; that possibility had gone with the sands of time, and there was no going back.

What he had to do was forge ahead. He had promised Will the he could come back for him, and that was one promise that he meant to keep.

After all, Hannibal thought with a cynical smile, as he had told Alana Bloom, he _always_ kept promises. He would never renege on any of them, not if he could help it -- especially a promise as important as this one, a promise that he felt defined a great deal of his life.

Whatever happened between himself and Will at that meeting would set the tone for the rest of his life, he was sure of that. _If_ he was the one who survived.

Hannibal felt a stirring of surprise at that thought. Why did he doubt that he would be the survivor? That was a foregone conclusion. He wouldn't allow himself to lose.

But winning this battle would be the end of Will Graham.

He didn't want to contemplate a world without Will in it. It would be a world of bleakness, a world that had suddenly become much darker for him.

That was really a world that he didn't particularly want to live in. Life without Will in it was a bearable thought. A life that dragged on an on endlessly, knowing that he had engineered the end of the man who he had spent so long nursing an obsession over -- that didn't bear thinking about.

Somehow, he would have to find a way to negotiate a truce with Will. His freedom for Will's life. That was what it would have to be. There was no other way.

Though he wasn't at all sure that was a bargain that Will would agree to.

If Will managed to have him at a disadvantage, he didn't doubt that it would be the end of his existence. Will wouldn't hesitate to do away with him.

He would see it as doing the world a favour, as getting rid of a predator. And he would be right, Hannibal told himself, his lips twisting cynically. He _was_ a predator. He always had been, and he was fully aware of that fact. He knew exactly how others viewed him.

But he wasn't going to simply lie down and die, bare his throat for the killing stroke. If Will insisted on a battle to the death, then regretfully, that was how it would be.

He wouldn't give up his freedom. That would be a fate worse than death.

Yes, he had promised Will that he would come back for him, and he would keep that promise. But in a way, he knew that Will was also coming for _him_.

Ah, yes, they were indeed well-matched, Hannibal thought with a sigh. If only they weren't so utterly opposite, they might have had a very different future.

What a shame that the light residing within Will's soul hadn't allowed him to become all that Hannibal had wanted him to be. He couldn't allow himself to think about that. Not now. The die had been cast, the choice had been made, and they both had to deal with those facts.

Their path was laid out for the, and Hannibal was determined to follow it to the end, wherever it might lead. Neither of them had any other choice, at this point.

Was Will feeling the same way? he wondered. Did he sit and ask himself these questions, and wonder what their life might have been?

He had a feeling that he knew what Will was doing now.

They were so much alike, the two of them. They might be as different as night and day in some ways, but in others, their souls were united.

Perhaps it would have been better if the light in Will could have overcome the darkness in him, changed him and made him a different man, Hannibal told himself, sighing softly. That would have been the fairy-tale happy ending that everyone always wished for their lives to be.

Alas, that wasn't what was in store for him. His life had never been a fairy tale; if it had been, it would much more closely resemble the dark, visceral original Brothers Grimm stories.

Fairy tales didn't come true. Not for people like him.

And this wasn't a fairy tale, he told himself firmly. This was real life. This was what he had to do, and he would see it through to the bitter end.

Just as Will would do the same. And at least they would have that final confrontation -- and the circle of their relationship, such as it was, would be closed.

He had told Will that he would come back. It was time for him to do so.

He wondered just what he would be met with when he saw Will for the last time.


	41. Spilling His Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No matter how much he studies serial killers and uses his empathy to get into their minds, Will knows that he'll never understand them.

"Damn!" Will brought his hand to his mouth, scowling.

He should have known better than to do this without proper lighting, he thought ruefully, looking at the fishing lure. It was getting too dark for this work.

He'd ended up cutting himself, as he'd known that he would. He had told himself more than once to turn on a light, but he'd thought that he could finish the lure before the sky outside started to darken. He'd taken more time with than he had planned.

And now he had ended up drawing blood. Well, not much, he told himself, putting his index finger into his mouth. Nothing that a Band-Aid couldn't fix.

But it had hurt more than he'd thought it would.

He took his finger out of his mouth, staring at the tip as a tiny drop of blood welled up again. His blood had been spilled, though it had been an accident.

Having his blood spilled when he and Hannibal next met would be no accident, Will thought as he went to the bathroom to get a package of Band-Aids from the medicine cabinet over the sink. Hannibal would be happy to make him bleed. He would get off on it.

He didn't doubt that for a moment, no matter what Hannibal might say. Hannibal was a serial killer. Causing pain was one of the things that made him happy.

No matter how long he lived, how much he studied the psychology of murderers, no matter how many times he got inside their heads, he would never understand them.

How could spilling blood make someone happy? Will asked himsef. He might be able to understand the euphoria that feeling powerful could give someone; wielding that kind of power, making the decision of whether to give life or death, could be a rush.

But he would never understand how that could be fulfilling enough for someone to want to do it again and again, simply because they could get away with it.

The thought made him shudder. It was chilling.

He didn't want to think of Hannibal spilling his blood and being happy about it. But unfortunately, he knew that was probably going to be the case.

Will didn't try to fool himself into thinking that Hannibal didn't want to do him harm. He wouldn't come over to Hannibal's way of thinking, and he never would -- which made him, in Hannibal's eyes, the enemy. They would always be at odds with each other.

Had they ever really been friends? Will didn't think so. It was impossible to be friends with someone who could do what Hannibal had done to him.

He'd been a fool to ever believe they'd been friends.

And now, he was sure that Hannibal wanted to spill his blood.

The very thought made him shudder again, this time with dread.

It was only a matter of time until their final confrontation.

All he could do was prepare for it, and hope for the best.


	42. Only One Possible Outcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal regrets that he and Will are now locked in a struggle to the death.

The idea of seeing Will covered with blood didn't excite him.

Hannibal's brow furrowed at the thought, and he slowly put down the sharp letter opener he'd been holding. This new train of thought made him a bit uneasy.

He had thought that he wanted a kind of revenge on Will for not becoming what Hannibal wanted him to be, for having a will that was too strong to break. But no .... revenge wasn't what he wanted. He didn't hate Will. He didn't want to spill his blood, to take his life.

What he truly wanted was for Will to be, to come to him willingly and to lay himself at Hannibal's feet. He wanted an acolyte, a companion.

He wanted someone to be with him, as more than a friend.

Hannibal sighed, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair. Why didn't he just admit the truth to himself? He didn't want Will Graham as merely a friend.

No, he wanted Will Graham as a lover. He wanted the young man to look at him with a certain kind of light in his eyes, a light that said he belonged to Hannibal and would give up anything for him, would do anything to please him, anything for them to be together.

But he had destroyed that possibility, for good and all time. He should have realized that taking Will by force was not going to be the way into his heart.

That had been a terrible mistake, but the damage was done now. There was no way that he could talk Will into coming over to his side. Not after that.

He would simply have to admit to himself that he had made a mistake, and try to move on. Though he didn't want to spill Will's blood, something told him that he was going to have to. They were locked in a struggle now that only had one possible outcome.

They were in a fight to the death. Either his death, or Will's. That was the way it had to be. Only one of them could come out of this alive. It was too late for anything else.

Did he have regrets? he asked himself. Yes, of course he did.

Still, it couldn't be helped, he told himself with a sigh. The next time he saw Will, they would be sworn enemies. There was no other choice for either of them.

If only things could have been different .... Hannibal pushed that thought away as soon as it coalesced in his mind. There was no alternative. He had made sure of that when he had committed a terrible crime against Will, one that he now regretted but couldn't change.

This had been the outcome; he would probably have to spill Will's blood, and he knew that Will would be out for his. From promising beginnings, they had come to this.

It would be interesting to see just how their story would end.


	43. Thorn in My Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The light within Will has always been the one thing that Hannibal hasn't been able to defeat, the thorn in his pride.

Will had always been a thorn in his pride.

It galled Hannibal that he hadn't been able to bring the young man around to his way of thinking, to create Will anew in his own image.

It was a failure that he hated to countenance, but he had to admit that it was true. There was far too strong a will there for him to ever be able to break it.

So he had chosen to try to break Will in other ways -- and that hadn't worked, either. Instead of bringing Will to his side, his impulsive action had only succeeded in driving them even further apart, and making Will an enemy instead of the ally he had wanted.

Well, there was no hope for it now, Hannibal thought with a sigh. What was done was done, in the past. There was no way to change that past.

He couldn't rewrite history. All that he could do was to try to make the future be as he wanted it -- though at the moment, he wasn't sure of just what he wanted.

Did he want Will gone, obliterated, out of his life forever?

Of course not. It would sadden him more than he could say to lose the excitement of the chase, the knowledge that Will was out there somewhere, looking for him.

Knowing that he was on Will's mind, that he was never out of the other man's thoughts for long, was what kept him going these days.

Will was always in his thoughts, too. Of course, he had to keep the chase in the forefront of his mind, and he had to be vigilant at all times. He couldn't afford to let that vigilance slip; Will was a formidable adversary, and any lack of attention could get him caught.

Ah, but that was what made the chase so delectable, wasn't it? Hannibal told himself with a smile. The knowledge that his adversary was on a level with him.

All right, maybe not quite _on_ his level, he told himself, soothing his ego. No one was as good as he was. That was why it had taken so long to catch the Chesapeake Ripper.

They hadn't actually caught him yet, though they knew who he was.

He had known that Will would discover his identity sooner or later. That had been a foregone conclusion. Will Graham wasn't the kind of man a person could hide from forever.

Hannibal was proud of Will in that respect. He admired the young man for not giving up, for pursuing his quarry no matter what the personal cost.

Though it would be better if _he_ wasn't that quarry, he thought, shaking his head and sighing softly. He admired Will's tenacity, but he would much prefer it if that single-mindedness hadn't been turned in his direction. He didn't like having Will's light shining on him.

It was uncomfortable, to say the least. The last thing he needed was for his activities here in Italy to be noticed, and for Will to come in his direction.

He had gone back to ground after his connection with Will, but he knew that he would find himself back in the States very soon. It was all a ploy to confuse Will.

The young man had no idea of where he was at the moment; Hannibal was sure of it. He _had_ been at the house in Wolf Trap, watching Will closely, but he had known that in the interests of his own safety, he had to run cover before Will became too suspicious.

What he needed to do was to observe Will just enough to keep him rattled, to make the other man feel that he was one step behind his quarry.

That wasn't easy to do. It was another thorn in his overweening pride -- the knowledge that Will was just as intelligent as he was, just as good at playing this game.

He had never met anyone quite like Will Graham before.

Will was an anomaly unto himself, completely unlike anyone else in the universe. And as such, he fascinated Hannibal in too many ways to count.

Just how had Will come to be? He wished that he could come up with an answer to such a question, but he knew that it was one that had to remain unanswered.

It was enough that Will existed, enough that their worlds had collided. And if he couldn't make Will _his_ , then he would strive to leave an indelible impression on the other man's life, one that would color everything he did from here on out, one that would twist his vision.

He wanted to have a say in the way Will saw the world -- and more importantly, in the way that Will viewed himself and his place within society.

Will had a dark side, and Hannibal knew that the other man acknowledged it, however unwillingly. He had wanted to bring that darkness out, to let it bloom in all its splendor.

But the light in Will had been too strong. It had overcome the darkness.

That was what he had wanted to change in Will. He had wanted to see that light, that goodness, overcome by the darkness that he knew lurked in Will's soul.

Everyone had that darkness, of course. Human beings existed as a mixture of darkness and light, good and bad. He had thought that he could bring Will's darkness to the surface.

But instead of bringing it out, he had only driven that darkness within Will to hide itself more deeply. He had underestimated just how strong Will's commitment to what he felt was "the right thing" could be. That was the thorn in his pride -- the fact that he had guessed wrong.

He had taken a gamble, and he had lost. But he could rectify that. He could salvage his wounded pride, though he wasn't quite sure if he really wanted to.

Salving his pride would mean ending Will's life, if he wanted to do it properly. And he couldn't bring himself to do that, though he _had_ threatened it.

Will was too precious to him. And he still had hope.

A part of him still wanted to believe that he could bring Will over to his side. He knew that he had to try once more, in all fairness to Will.

He couldn't simply condemn the young man to death without trying his best to make Will see the alternative. He owed that much to the man who was now his enemy.

No, he had to give Will a chance to come around to his way of thinking, to see that it would be for the best. He shook his head, a look of sadness descending on his features. He doubted that Will would do so, but he had to be given the opportunity.

Or perhaps Will would turn the tables on him, Hannibal thought dryly. It was always possible. He had, after all, underestimated the young man too many times already.

They would meet again soon. And when they did, Hannibal hoped that the outcome wouldn't leave one of them gone from this realm.

He wanted them to come to some kind of reconciliation.

He doubted that it was possible. Knowing Will, it wouldn't be. But he was going to try. He felt that he owed it to Will, and even to himself, in a way.

If he was forced to battle Will to the death, then he would lose a great deal. The savour would be gone from his life; there would be no challenges left.

Will was a challenge that he couldn't resist, a gauntlet that he had to take up. He wished that this could have been easier for both of them, but now that they had come to this, he couldn't help but hold on to a shred of hope that there might still be a workable future.

And if there wasn't .... well, he would accept that fact. It wouldn't be easy, but he would have no other choice. There was no telling what could happen.

Would Will continue to be a thorn in his pride? He couldn't say for sure, but he hoped that it wouldn't always be so. And hope _did_ spring eternal.

It would be interesting to see just what the next step in their dance would be.


	44. Not the Only One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will contemplates what he might have to do in order to defeat Hannibal.

Hannibal had already spilled too much of his blood.

Involuntarily, Will's hand went to the scar on his stomach, and he winced, even though he could no longer feel any pain from that horrible wound.

Still, he'd felt plenty of pain when it had happened -- and if he closed his eyes, he could remember that night as though he was reliving every moment of it. That had probably been the worst night of his life -- when he had been so sure that it would be his last in this world.

But it hadn't been. He had survived, and he had put Hannibal behind bars, where the bastard belonged. He could be proud of that, if nothing else.

Unfortunately, Hannibal hadn't stayed where he belonged.

And now he was out for blood -- Will's blood. Too much of it has already spilled out and spattered on the ground; Will wasn't looking forward to having it happen again.

He didn't doubt that Hannibal would be coming for him -- soon. He hated that knowledge; he wished that he had more time to prepare himself for what he was positive would be a final showdown between them. He felt restless, worried, uncomfortable in his own skin.

Will took a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to center his thoughts. Hannibal _wanted_ him to feel insecure and off his game. He couldn't afford that.

He had to keep himself steady, to try to look at the situation with calm detachment, even though he knew that their final confrontation would be a fight to the death.

If he let himself be rattled, then he was playing right into Hannibal's hands, and that was something that could be his downfall. He had to be as calm and calculated as Hannibal himself would be, or he had lost this fight before it had even begun.

Another deep breath, then another. He couldn't lose this fight. He didn't intend to. And if he was the one who had to spill Hannibal's blood, well then, so be it.

He wasn't going to go quietly like a lamb to the slaughter.

If more of his blood had to be spilled, then he could accept that. But he would spill Hannibal's blood, too. And if he had to go, then he would take that monster with him.

The thought managed to somehow give him some measure of peace. Will squared his shoulders, glad that he had come to that conclusion. Even if it was his time to depart this realm of being the next time he confronted his enemy, then he wouldn't be the only one to take a powder.

He would be just as ready to spill blood as Hannibal was. And this time, he was ready to be more ruthless than he'd ever been in his entire life.

This time, whatever the future held, he knew that he would not be the only one to bleed.


End file.
